For fully a fortnight after his strange experience in the upper part of
the city, Bruce heard nothing from Harry Van Kuren, the boy whom he had
picked up by the roadside and conveyed home. He had hoped, at first,
that their chance acquaintance might develop into a permanent
friendship, for since his arrival in the city he had associated entirely
with the men in the fire company and, boy like, he was beginning to pine
for the companionship of lads of his own age. Two or three times he had
thought of writing a note to Harry to ask him how his foot was getting
along, but he had hesitated, for fear he should be looked upon as
endeavoring to intrude upon a boy whose condition in life was, he could
not help feeling, very much better than his own. So Bruce, who was an
independent, self-respecting lad, determined to let the other make the
first advance, if he desired to continue the acquaintance.
One morning, however, about a fortnight after the first meeting of the
two boys, Bruce was surprised and delighted to see Harry march into the
quarters and come straight up to where he was sitting.
“I suppose you thought I was never coming down here to see you,” said
the visitor as he shook Bruce heartily by the hand, “but the fact is
when my father got home that night and found that I had been out without
his leave, he put me on bounds for two weeks and said if he caught me
going out without permission he would lock me up in the house. I was
going to write to you, but writing is an awful bother, so I thought I’d
wait until I got off the limit and then come down here and make you a
call.”
Bruce was heartily glad to see his visitor, and frankly told him so,
mentioning also the fact that he had almost given up hope of hearing
from him again.
“Oh I never forget my friends,” said Harry “and here’s a letter from my
father inviting you come up and spend the afternoon with us to-day.”
With these words he produced from the inside pocket of his jacket a
polite and formal letter addressed to Bruce Decker, Esq., and signed
“Horace Van Kuren,” in which the writer hoped that Mr. Decker would
honor him with his company at dinner that evening, in order that he
might thank him for the kindness shown to his son some time before.
Bruce felt staggered at the idea of dining in that great, beautiful
house, and at first did not know what reply to make; then he bethought
him of Charley Weyman and accordingly went up stairs and submitted the
letter to him. The latter read it carefully and then said: “You had
better go by all means, it’s a good chance for you to get acquainted
with those people and they can’t do you any harm.”
“But” said the boy in a diffident, hesitating way, “I’m almost afraid to
go up there because I haven’t got any clothes nice enough. This is the
best suit I’ve got, and that boy Harry is togged out in beautiful
things, and I feel ashamed to go along with him, because of the contrast
between us.”
“Nonsense! he wasn’t ashamed to ride in the chief’s wagon the other day,
was he?”
“Why no,” replied the boy, “I never thought of it then, and I don’t
think he did either. Anyway he didn’t say anything about it, and now
he’s come down to see me, and his father has asked me up to visit them.”
“You’d better go with him,” said the fireman, “and my opinion is that
they’ll take you just as you are. Anyway, you can tell by the way they
treat you, particularly by the way this boy treats you, whether they are
the right sort of people or not.”
Bruce accordingly went to Chief Trask, showed him the letter, and asked
his permission to go with the boy, and having received it—and it was
granted all the more willingly because he was always obedient and
industrious himself, and seldom asked any favors,—he carefully washed
his hands and face, brushed his clothes and shoes and made ready to
start.
Meantime Harry had been examining everything in the building with much
interest, and he now called to the other boy to explain to him how the
alarms came in, and how the men got off to the fire when they heard the
gong. All this was now an old story to the young fire boy who had so
familiarized himself with every detail that he was able to give his new
friend a complete and graphic description of the workings of the system.
Harry wanted to stay until an alarm was sent in so that he might see the
company start, but when he found that it might be necessary to wait two
days for a fire to occur in their district he gave the plan up, and they
started off together. Bruce was relieved to see that in spite of his
fine clothes, and generally stylish appearance young Van Kuren treated
him with as much courtesy as it is possible for one boy to show to
another and, so far from making any remarks about their difference in
dress, did not seem to notice what sort of a coat his companion wore. As
a matter of fact, Harry did notice the coat with its rather shabby
sleeves and a good many other little things, for he was a quick-witted
observant boy, but he was too well-bred to make any remarks on the
subject. Indeed it would be hard to find anywhere a boy of better
breeding than this spoiled, willful, impulsive child of luxury, who was
always getting into trouble of one sort or another, was always doing
thoughtless and foolish things, and yet was liked by every one who knew
him. When he noticed Bruce’s coat, it suggested to him, not the idea of
making fun of it, but the wish that he could get him another without
hurting his feelings.
Both boys were in high spirits as they trudged along, the one because he
had at last found a companion of his own age, the other because he saw a
chance to mingle on familiar terms with the men of the fire department,
and perhaps to even ride to a fire on the truck with the rest of the
company. The New York boy of to-day knows no higher ambition than to
join the fire department and ride to fires on the swift rolling engine,
and Harry Van Kuren was a New York boy through and through.
“Watch me scare that Dutchman!” he cried as they drew near a basement
beer saloon, at the door of which a corpulent German was peacefully
dozing. A pile of kegs stood on the top of a short flight of steps, and
with a warning cry of “Look out Dutchy!” Harry toppled the heap over and
then seizing his comrade by the hand ran for dear life. The saloon
keeper pursued them for a few yards and then gave up the chase, while
Harry much elated by his exploit looked around for some other victim for
his practical humor.
Bruce, accustomed as he was to the rigid discipline maintained by Chief
Trask, was horrified at his companion’s idea of sport, and was glad
enough when they reached the elevated station without any further
adventures.
A little girl not more than thirteen years old, was standing by the
front gate of Mr. Van Kuren’s house when the two boys entered; she had
blue eyes, a profusion of light hair, which she wore in a single braid
down her back, and was altogether extremely pretty and attractive.
“You’ll catch it when you get into the house,” she remarked to Harry,
with a knowing wag of her head.
“What for?” he demanded.
“For going off without letting Mr. Reed know.”
“Oh, bother!” said the boy, “I forgot all about him. He’s my tutor, you
see,” he added, turning to Bruce, “and this is my sister Laura.”
Bruce took off his cap and bowed politely to the young girl, and she
held out her hand and said, without any apparent reserve or shyness, “I
saw you the other day when you brought Harry home; why didn’t you drive
up in your wagon to-day? it must be fun to be a fireman; I wish you’d
tell me all about it. Harry, you’d better go in the house and see Mr.
Reed right off; he’s hopping mad, and if he don’t get over it before
papa comes back, you’ll be locked up for another fortnight. Harry is
always getting locked up,” she continued, turning to the visitor, who
was listening with considerable surprise to this frank conversation
between the brother and sister.
Harry disappeared into the house, saying that he would be out as soon as
he had “squared himself with the professor,” and Laura took Bruce off to
show him the stable where her pony was, and the barns and sheds in which
were kept cows, pigs, dogs, and even a pair of goats.