Many a time had Frank Decker described, for the benefit of his boy, the
rapidity with which his truck company would start for a fire at the
stroke of the gong, but never had Bruce’s imagination conceived of
anything like that which took place now before his astonished eyes.
The electric current which sounded the alarm released the horses and the
intelligent creatures sprang at once to their places beneath the harness
that was suspended in mid-air from the ceiling of the room. Five of the
men were at their heads at the same instant, while Weyman climbed into
the driver’s seat and took the reins in his hand and Brophy mounted
behind and took his place at the steering apparatus. Two or three sharp
clicks and the harness was adjusted, and then, while the rest of the
company climbed recklessly over the wheels to their places on the truck,
the horses bounded into the street, turned sharply to the left and
dashed away in full gallop. Bruce rushed to the door and looked after
the flying truck. Fully two blocks away he saw a man in fireman’s
uniform driving a galloping horse attached to a single seated wagon in
which was a brass gong which he rang vigorously. It was Chief Trask
leading the way to the fire.
Bruce went back to the room at the rear of the now deserted building and
seated himself in one of the arm-chairs. His face was flushed, and he
was trembling with excitement. If he had ever longed for a fireman’s
uniform he longed for it now, with an intensity such as he had never
felt before, and he determined that no power on earth should prevent him
entering the service and sustaining the reputation for courage and
fidelity which his father had enjoyed for so many years.
That night Bruce Decker slept at the home of John Trask, and, while he
was dreaming of fires and fire brigades and swift-moving horses, the
chief and two or three of his men were gathered about a little round
table at the rear of the truck house, discussing various schemes for
giving the lad a start in the city.
“I don’t know,” said Charles Weyman, “but what the best thing we can do
for the lad is to get him a job in some big store or place of business
where he can begin at the beginning and work his way up. There’s nothing
like business nowadays. Those big merchants make more money than any of
the professional men do, when once they get a few thousand ahead, and
anyway it’s a great deal better than this fire department business,
which is all risk and danger and excitement, with very little money to
compensate for it. You know that he is entitled to a pension of $300 a
year from the department, and that amount, together with what he could
make as an office boy or young clerk, ought to keep him going. I know if
I’d gone into business when I was his age I would have made a good deal
more money than I have by running to fires.”
“And yet you wouldn’t change now if you had the chance would you?” said
one of the men carelessly.
“No, I don’t think I would—” began Weyman slowly, but Tom Brophy
interrupted him with:
“What you say is all perfectly true, Charley, but you must remember one
thing, and that is, that this lad is crazy over the Fire Department and
anxious to get into it because his father was in it. Can’t you see how
much he’s been thinking about it all his life? Did you notice how he
recognized those horses and called them by name, just because his father
had told him about them? Its very plain to me that all he’s heard about
the New York Fire Department has made a deep impression on him, and when
a boy’s got his head set on any particular line of business, it’s very
foolish to try and force him in any other direction. Let him have a try
first at what inclination leads him to, and then if he finds out that
it’s not all a path of roses, it will be time enough for him to make a
change and get into something else.”
“But how are we going to get him started in the department yet awhile?”
demanded Weyman. “You know the rules are, that no one under twenty-one
years of age can be taken into the service, and this boy don’t look to
me to be more than fifteen. Get him into some good office now, and the
chances are that by the time he’s twenty-one he won’t want to go to
fires on a truck.”
Then Chief Trask, who had been silent for some time, removed his pipe
from his lips and said, in the authoritative way which was habitual with
him: “If the boy wants to be a fireman I believe in giving him a chance.
This pension of $300 a year ought to pay for his board and clothes and
there are plenty of odd jobs he can do about the quarters while he’s
learning the business. He can make himself very useful to us here if he
takes hold of the work in the right spirit, and if he gets sick of it
within a year he won’t be any the worse for his training.”
That ended the discussion and very soon afterward the men went up stairs
and turned in for the night.
The next morning the chief told Bruce that he had decided to give him
employment for a few months in order that he might familiarize himself
with the duties of a fireman. He could board at his (the chief’s) home,
and make himself generally useful at the quarters. “Do you know anything
about taking care of horses?” he required.
“Yes,” replied Bruce eagerly, “I’ve looked after horses all my life and
I’d like nothing better than to take care of that big grey Pete that
I’ve heard my father speak about so often. I am very handy with horses,
and I can do anything with them. Then I’ll run errands and do anything
you want me to. I’d rather be a fireman than President of the United
States.”
Mr. Trask could not help smiling at the boy’s earnestness, but it
pleased him, nevertheless, to see that he was bent upon entering the
service and did not intend to let a little hard work stand in the way of
getting there. That very afternoon found Bruce with his coat off
whistling merrily as he rubbed down the horses, Pete, Jack and Joe, and
gave them their hay and oats. Charley Weyman watched him from his seat
in the rear room, and remarked to Brophy: “That lad takes hold of his
work as if he liked it.”