A FOURTH OF JULY CELEBRATION
THE people of Claster had arranged for a Fourth of July celebration, and
early in the morning folks began to pour in from the surrounding farms
until the place took on the liveliness of a fair-sized city.
Knowing that some folks would take the opportunity to order or buy
supplies, Frank kept the store open until noon and did quite a fair
business. When he closed up he had twenty-six dollars on hand, which he
took home for safe keeping.
There was a short parade in the afternoon and all of the young folks
went to see this. Little Georgie was particularly enthusiastic and
wanted to follow the brass band all over the line of march.
“I’d like Fourth of July to come every day,” he told his brother and
sister.
“I fancy you’d get tired of it soon enough,” said Ruth.
“I’d never get tired of it,” answered the little fellow, positively.
“When I grow up I want to be a drummer in the band.”
[Illustration: “THE SMOKE WAS SO THICK HE COULD NOT SEE WHERE HE WAS
GOING.”–P. 54.]
“Do you think you want to carry around the bass-drum, Georgie?”
questioned Frank, with a smile.
“No, I want the little drum—the one that rattles and has two little
sticks,” returned Georgie.
The town people had collected almost a hundred dollars which a committee
had expended in fireworks. These were to be set off at the public
square, only a short distance from Mr. Hardy’s store. At the appointed
time the square was crowded, and the display of fireworks was begun amid
great enthusiasm.
“I love those rockets and Roman candles,” said Ruth, enthusiastically.
“And I like the big pin-wheels,” answered Frank.
With Georgie they had taken a place in front of the store. But they
could not see extra well, on account of a wagon being in the way, and so
moved on to another part of the square.
A flight of rockets was followed by some colored fire and a very
handsome set piece. Then came triangles and flower pots, and another set
piece, and then some of the largest rockets the committee had purchased.
The latter went up with a rush and a roar that made Ruth shrink back in
momentary alarm.
“I don’t like that—it looks dangerous,” said she.
“It is not as dangerous as it is for those boys to be running around
with blazing brushwood,” answered her brother. “The constable ought to
stop them. They may set something or somebody on fire.”
“Wouldn’t one of those rockets set something on fire if it came down
while it was still burning, Frank?”
“To be sure. We haven’t had rain in so long all the roofs around here
are pretty dry.”
For the end of the celebration there was a set piece of the President of
the United States, and as this lit up there was a wild cheering and
hurrahing, which was changed to a sudden cry of alarm as a man yelled
“Fire!” at the top of his lungs.
“Fire? Where is the fire?” asked several.
“He means the fireworks,” said one onlooker, and several laughed at the
joke.
“Fire! fire!” continued the other man. “The feed store is on fire!”
“The feed store?” repeated Frank, with a start. “Can he mean our place?”
“He does!” shrieked Ruth. “See, the smoke is coming out of the upper
window!”
“It is our place, true enough!” groaned Frank. “Here, Ruth, take care of
Georgie. Don’t you come over to the fire.”
“Oh, what are you going to do, Frank? Don’t go into the place, please!
You’ll be burnt up!”
“I’ll take care of myself. Now, keep back as I told you.”
Thus speaking Frank darted into the crowd and made his way to the front
of the store, which was located in a small two-story frame structure,
having a flat roof. The upper floor was filled with feed and grain, and
through the front window the flames could readily be seen. As Frank drew
closer there was a crash of glass, and then the flames shot out of the
window, and began to lap the roof.
“Don’t go in there, Frank!” cried several. “The place is a goner. You
can’t save anything.”
“I’m going to save the papers,” answered our hero, determinedly. “Why
don’t you call out the fire department?”
“Bill Wilson did that already.”
Unlocking the front door, Frank made his way inside. All was dark and
filled with smoke. He felt his way to his father’s safe and desk. Soon
he had some papers from the desk in his pocket, and then he knelt down
to open the safe.
The strong box had a combination lock, and as yet Frank was hardly
accustomed to it. In his excitement it was not easy to remember the
proper numbers, and the first time he tried the knob the safe refused to
come open. Then he tried to work the combination again.
By this time the entire lower floor of the building was thick with
smoke, and the flames were already beginning to show themselves in the
vicinity of the back stairway. Frank’s eyes were swimming in tears, and
it was all he could do to get his breath.
“I certainly can’t stand this any longer,” he thought, and gave the knob
of the safe a final turn. Then the door came open and he pulled out the
account books and some private papers in all haste. He had heard his
father say that the safe was worn out, and in no condition to stand the
test of a hot fire.
Scarcely able to stand, Frank felt his way toward the front door. The
entire back and upper part of the building were now ablaze and he could
plainly hear the crackling of the flames above him.
“Frank Hardy, where are you?” called a voice through the smoke.
Frank did not answer, but staggered toward the sound, for the smoke was
so thick he could not see where he was going. Then, just as he felt he
must drop, he received a dash of water in the face, thrown by a member
of the local bucket brigade, for as yet the town boasted of nothing
better than one engine and a company of men, who possessed sixty leather
fire buckets.
The water did much toward reviving our hero and in a second more he
almost fell through the front door and out on the stoop of the store. As
he came into view a shout went up.
“There he is!”
“He has had a narrow escape!”
“Did he get burnt?”
“No, he is all right.”
Assisted by willing hands, Frank made his way to a bench in the public
square. Close at hand was a town pump, where men and boys were filling
the leather buckets. Down the square was the hand engine, drawing water
from a nearby cistern. As weak as he was our hero had brought his books
and papers with him, and these he now placed at his side.
“Oh, Frank, are you hurt?” It was Ruth who asked the question, as she
came up with little Georgie.
“No, I’m all right,” Frank answered. “But I guess I’m pretty well
smoked,” he added, coughing and wiping his eyes.
“You should not have gone in such a place.”
“I wanted to save father’s books and papers. The desk will be burnt, I
know, and the old safe isn’t of any account.”
“Do you think they’ll put the fire out?”
“It doesn’t look like it now.”
“It must have been set on fire by the fireworks,” went on Ruth.
“More than likely.”
The firemen were working with a will, and before long Frank started in
to aid them, telling Ruth and Georgie to take the books and papers home.
“Tell mother not to worry about me—that I’ll keep out of danger,” said
our hero.
He had scarcely spoken when Mrs. Hardy rushed up, all out of breath and
with her face full of fear.
“They told me you had gone into the store,” she gasped. “Are you
unharmed?”
“Yes, I’m all right, mother.”
“Thank Heaven for that!”
“Here are father’s papers and account books. I’m afraid the whole place
is doomed.”
“Yes, it looks like it—and the next place, too,” answered Mrs. Hardy.
She remained at the fire for only a few minutes and then returned home,
to tell her husband that Frank was safe. Georgie went with her, but Ruth
stayed to see the end of the conflagration.
It was a full hour before the fire was under control. By that time not
only the feed store was gone, but also the butcher shop next door, and a
barn in the rear. Yet many felt that the firemen had done well to save
the surrounding property, considering how dry everything was and what a
breeze was blowing.
“That’s the end of the feed business,” thought Frank. “I hope father is
insured. If he isn’t, the loss will be a heavy one for him—especially
after this Garrison disaster.”
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