Bruce awoke at a very early hour in the morning and found himself in a
clean, white, comfortable bed, which was not his own. His eyes were dim
and there was a soreness in his lungs when he tried to breathe. He was
conscious, moreover, of dull pains in his arms and legs, and he felt as
weak as if he had just recovered from a long fit of illness. He did not
know where he was and he did not care, his only wish being to lie
perfectly quiet and if possible to go to sleep again. He closed his eyes
for a moment or two and then his natural instincts seemed to return, so
he opened them again and stared curiously about him. He was in a long,
high room, with plenty of light and air in it and a row of tall windows
stretching along one side of it. There were other cots similar to his
own in the room, and each one had its occupant.
For some time he rested quietly on his back, moving his head slightly,
from time to time, in order to see everything in the room and wondering
the while, whether he were asleep or awake. Then an indistinct
remembrance of the exciting events of the day before returned to him,
and it seemed as if he were still breathing the hot smoke which had
filled the burning building.
“How do you feel this morning?”
These words were uttered in a soft, womanly voice, and on turning his
head, he saw standing by his bedside one of the prettiest young ladies
he had ever seen. Her dress was of a quiet Scotch plaid, and she wore
over her dark hair a most becoming little white cap, of a style that was
perfectly new to him.
“I feel queer,” was his simple answer and then he asked, with a faint
show of interest: “How did I get here, and where am I?”
“You’re in good hands and you’ll soon be well again, Bruce, but you must
be careful not to move about too much in your bed or to worry yourself
unnecessarily,” was the young lady’s reply, but although it was uttered
in the gentlest and most reassuring tones, he could not help noticing
its evasive nature, so he repeated his question, “Where am I?”
“You’re in an hospital, and you must stay here until you are well enough
to go out again,” said the young lady, and then as she saw a look of
dismay coming to the boy’s face, she continued, “But you needn’t be
afraid, for it is a very nice hospital, indeed, and you will have
everything that is good for you, and I am sure that you will get well
very fast. Now shut your eyes again and try to go to sleep, and by and
by I will bring you some breakfast.”
The young lady with the white cap inspired so much confidence in the
young boy that he dismissed all anxiety and curiosity from his mind,
closed his eyes and was soon in a deep sleep, from which he did not
awaken until nearly all the rest of the sleepers in the big room were
either sitting up in bed or dressed and walking about. He felt much more
refreshed now, and as he stared about him, he wondered what had become
of the young lady, and how soon she would bring his breakfast to him.
“Hay, boss, wot place is dis?” said a piping voice close beside him, and
as Bruce turned his head, he saw in the cot next to his a face that
seemed familiar, and was connected in his mind in some way with the fire
and smoke and excitement of the day before. It was the face of a boy,
and a very homely little boy at that. It was a boy with a freckled face,
turned up nose, and a pair of sharp, small, blue eyes, which looked at
him from under a thick mat of coarse red hair which hung down over his
forehead in rebellious locks, and added measurably to the foxy
expression of his face.
“Who are you, anyhow?” demanded Bruce.
“I’m Skinny de Swiper, an’ I’d like ter know wot dey brung me here fer.”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” said the other, and then he added with a smile
“I don’t even know what I’m doing here myself, but where do you come
from? Where do you live when you’re home?”
“Sometimes one place, and sometimes anudder; last week I got a job in a
factory over in 18th Street, but dere was a fire dere, an’ I guess I
muster got burned up. I kin just remember a bloke collarin’ me an’ and
trowin’ me down a ladder; he muster been a fireman.”
The boy’s simple explanation cleared some of the cobwebs out of Bruce’s
mind, and he suddenly recalled his entrance, with the hose under his
arm, into the burning building and the boy whom he had dragged through
the window and down the ladder to the street. “I guess,” he remarked,
“that I’m the bloke that carried you out.”
“Come off!” said the boy in a tone of mingled scorn and incredulity,
“dere ain’t no kids like you in de fire department, an’ I guess I’d
oughter know.”
“Very well then,” replied Bruce, annoyed at the other’s contemptuous
words, “maybe I’m not in the department, but I helped to put that fire
out all the same. If I hadn’t I wouldn’t be here now.”
He would have said more if he had not been interrupted by the young lady
with the white cap, who came up to him at this moment in company with
another young lady dressed exactly like herself and with the same gentle
manner and soft voice. The second young lady was the day-nurse and the
other nurse was telling her about the cases that had been brought into
the ward during the night. In a few words she explained the injuries
which the two boys were suffering from and then asked them if they would
like something to eat. They were both hungry and in a few minutes a tray
with coffee, toast, and an egg was placed on each bed. Skinny ate his
breakfast without any assistance, but Bruce had to be helped by the
day-nurse, a process which he did not object to in the slightest degree.
As he ate he noticed half a dozen other patients who were also
breakfasting in bed while others were walking about the ward, or sitting
in reclining chairs, reading or talking with one another. Some of these
had crutches with them, while others wore bandages or limped along with
the aid of canes. Bruce, looked all around him in a vain search for some
well man, and then innocently asked the nurse how it happened that
everybody in the room seemed to be lame or disabled in some way. The
nurse smiled at his simplicity and then replied: “They’re brought here
because they are disabled, for this is a hospital, where broken limbs
are set and the sick made well again. You’ll have to stay here until you
are cured; and if you lie quiet now, in a few days you will be able to
walk about like the others you see there.”
Then, having advised the young sufferer not to talk or exert himself in
any way, she departed with the breakfast tray and Bruce, fatigued by the
slight exertion of eating, closed his eyes and was soon sound asleep.
It was after ten o’clock when he awoke suddenly and found the nurse and
two or three gentlemen standing at the foot of his bed. One of these
gentlemen had a long white beard, gold spectacles, and an exceedingly
benevolent air.
“And so this is the brave little fire-lad, is it?” he remarked, with a
very kindly smile, as the nurse whispered something in his ear, and in
another moment a tall, white screen was placed about the bed, the
blanket and sheet drawn up and then Bruce felt shooting pains through
his right leg as the head surgeon and his assistants removed the
bandages to see how his wounds were getting on. He fully believed that
they were cutting his leg off, and after a pain a little sharper than
the others he asked, “isn’t it most off yet?”
They all smiled at his words and the old gentleman answered in
reassuring tones, “no, my son, that leg of yours will be as good as ever
in three weeks and you’ll live to be a first class fireman yet or I’m
very much mistaken.”
Then the bandages were quickly replaced, the bed-clothing drawn up, and,
when the attendant had removed the screen, Bruce saw the physicians
gathered around Skinny the Swiper. The boy set his teeth hard, but
uttered no sound, as the bandages were taken from his arm and shoulder
and fresh liniment applied to the wounded parts. Bruce could see him
watching the faces of the doctors with sharp, eager eyes, very much as a
squirrel might regard any object in which it had some special interest;
but nevertheless he did not ask a single question or utter the slightest
moan, although once his face turned white with pain and the doctor,
knowing that the boy was suffering, remarked in his gentle, professional
voice, “one moment more, my boy, and it will be all over. There, now,
we’ll put the bandages on again and the pain will soon go.” Then the
doctors continued their tour of the ward, and, as soon as they were out
of hearing, Skinny turned to Bruce and said, “maybe dat didn’t hurt when
der bloke pulled dem rags off.”
“Look here!” returned the other, “if you don’t think I’m the fireman
that carried you out of that building, you’d better ask that tall
gentleman with the white whiskers; he knew who I was, the minute he saw
me and didn’t wait to be introduced either.”
“Say boss, is dat on de level?” asked the boy as he raised his head
slightly from his pillow and fixed his eyes with the same sharp,
searching, squirrel look on Bruce’s face.
“It is,” said the other.
For a few moments, the boy who had grown up in the streets continued to
regard the one who had saved his life with a fixed, eager look, but he
said nothing. There were undoubtedly things in his mind that he wanted
to say, but for the utterance of which his vocabulary was totally
inadequate. So he said nothing but “hully gee!” which might have been
taken to mean almost anything, but which Skinny the Swiper intended as
an expression of gratitude, admiration, and esteem combined with a
solemn oath of loyalty, all condensed into two words, neither one of
which can be found in Webster’s dictionary.
But Bruce had had experience enough with the boys who swarmed about the
door of the quarters to know what Skinny meant, and to him the slangy
phrase passed for part at least of what the younger lad had wished to
express. He said nothing more, but closed his eyes, which were still red
and sore, and when he opened them again a few minutes later, the doctors
had departed, half a dozen visitors were in the ward, and John Trask was
standing beside his bed and calling him by name.