A FIRE
Patricia thrust her head into each room on her way down the corridor, but
no trace of fire did she find until she reached the very end. There, in
the room occupied by Frances and Katharine, flames were flickering around
the window frames, apparently coming from outside. Quickly closing the
door again to prevent a draft, she dashed to the telephone and called the
Fire Department. Then she ran into her own room to look out of the window
and see how much space the fire covered. The side of the house below
Frances’ window was ablaze, and tongues of flame were creeping steadily
up the frame building.
“Tiny’s room is directly over Frances’!” was the thought which flashed
through Patricia’s brain.
Darting back into the hall and up the stairs, two steps at a time,
Patricia burst into Evelyn’s room crying:
“Get up quickly!” She pulled the covers off of the astonished little
girl. “There’s a fire.”
“I can’t get up; I’m too weak!” whimpered Evelyn.
“You’ve got to!” replied Patricia, snatching up a heavy bathrobe, pulling
the girl up from her pillows, and forcing her arms into the sleeves. “Now
come—_quick_.”
Still Evelyn hesitated; so Patricia literally dragged her out of bed,
and, grasping her firmly from behind, pushed the reluctant girl out to
the stairs. There, overcome by fright and weakness, Evelyn sat down on
the top step. Without wasting any more words, Patricia grabbed her by the
ankles, pulled her all the way down the long, straight flight of stairs,
and landed her on the rug at the foot of them just as the fire apparatus
clattered up to the house. Clutching Evelyn under the arms, Patricia
dragged her into the parlor, rolled her onto some cushions before the
fireplace, threw a rug over her, and ran out to consult with the Fire
Chief who was already in the hall.
“Shall we have to get out?” inquired Patricia, somewhat breathlessly.
“Hardly think so. Seems to be confined to back corner. Keep all doors
closed,” was the man’s curt reply, as he directed his assistants who were
bringing in extinguishers and hose.
Immediately a huge crowd assembled and some policemen were trying to keep
the excited people far enough away from the house; even the students who
lived in the Hall were not allowed to enter it. Watching from the front
windows of the parlor, Patricia could see the Alley Gang on the edge of
one group; Jane, calm as usual; Frances crying and holding onto
Katharine; Hazel gesticulating wildly as she talked to Anne; and the
others dodging this way and that, trying to get closer to the house. Just
as Mrs. Vincent worked her way through the crowd to speak to one of the
firemen, she came face to face with Clarice and Ivan who had edged
through from the opposite side of the street. Patricia held her breath
for an instant, but after receiving the fireman’s reply Mrs. Vincent
seemed to be chatting quite naturally with the couple. Probably she did
not realize that they had been out together.
A grey coat and hat in the background caught Patricia’s eye, and as a
sudden movement of their owner brought him fully into the light of a
street lamp, she recognized Norman Young. Like lightning her mind raced
from the skulking figure beside the dormitory earlier in the evening, to
the subsequent outbreak of fire. Surely there could be no connection. No
doubt an investigation of the fire would surely follow, to which, in all
probability, she would be summoned. What should she say? “I should hate
to tell a mere suspicion. I’m not really certain,” she stated to herself.
“I wish I knew what to do about it.”
Evelyn, who had lain shivering and weeping just where Patricia had left
her, now raised up and inquired plaintively: “Do you suppose my room will
be burned? I just bought all my spring clothes; and if they’re lost—I—”
“I’m quite sure they must be getting the fire under control; otherwise,
they would have ordered us out,” replied Patricia calmly. “I hardly think
the flames reached your room at all.”
“Thank goodness!” sighed Evelyn, collapsing again onto her pillows.
Not a word of gratitude to the girl who had rescued her. People are
awfully queer, thought Patricia, gazing wonderingly at Tiny. Imagine,
thinking of her new clothes when she, herself, might have been trapped up
there, alone and sick! Turning again to the window, she was amused to see
her Aunt Betsy dash determinedly through the crowd only to be stopped by
a policeman. Patricia could imagine the things she was saying to the man
who dared block her way. Nearby stood Ted and John, scanning the crowd
anxiously. She wished she could in some way attract their attention so
they might know she was safe. Presently the crowd shifted a little,
bringing the two boys more directly in her range of vision. Ted’s
restless eyes soon spied her; he said something to John, and they both
made grotesque gestures, which she interpreted as offers of rescue. Gaily
she shook her head, thereby causing Ted to shed imaginary tears into his
handkerchief, while Jack patted him on the back.
Half an hour later sounded the welcome two gongs which indicated that the
fire was out. Then the crowd made a dash for the front steps; but a
couple of officers, with whom the Dean had been quietly conferring, took
their stand on the bottom step and refused admittance to all but Arnold
Hall students. Slowly the townspeople strolled away, while the excited
girls hurried in to see how much damage had been done.
“Oh, Pat!” cried Anne, flinging both arms around her. “We were so worried
about you!”
“Until we caught sight of you at the window, we were absolutely frantic,”
added Jane.
A loud burst of laughter from Clarice, who had just entered with Betty
and Hazel, made them all turn to see what had occasioned it.
“Just look at Tiny!” cried Clarice. “How did you get down here?”
“Patricia dragged me down!” retorted Evelyn in injured tones. “She burst
into my room, scared the life out of me, and literally pulled me down the
stairs—”
“Pat to the rescue!” interrupted Hazel admiringly.
“Our Pat’s a heroine!” cried Anne, while the rest of the Gang pressed
closer.
“Who sent in the alarm?” inquired Mrs. Vincent.
“I did,” acknowledged Patricia modestly. “I smelled smoke and discovered
the cause of it in Katharine’s and Frances’ room—”
“She’s a double heroine!” exulted Jane.
“Have you any idea what started it?” continued Mrs. Vincent sharply.
“I told you all I _know_ about it,” replied Patricia, with a faint accent
on the word _know_, which was lost on the troubled chaperon. “I was on
the Black Book all the evening, except once when I went to my room for a
book and when I was looking for the fire—”
“And when you were dragging me around,” added Tiny, provoking a burst of
laughter.
“At the Black Book?” repeated Mrs. Vincent. “It wasn’t your turn. You had
it night before last. Who _was_ supposed to be on it?” looking accusingly
around the room.
“I was,” admitted Clarice; “but I had a date, so Pat relieved me.”
“You’re altogether too fond of getting out of some of your obligations,”
said Mrs. Vincent severely, while the girls stared in astonishment at her
rebuking thus publicly the favored Clarice.
“Pat didn’t mind,” murmured Clarice.
“That doesn’t matter. Hereafter, if you wish to relieve one another,
you’ll have to get my permission. I want that clearly understood.”
“Nice time we’ll have finding her sometimes, to get permission,” murmured
Hazel to Betty.
“Must be dreadfully upset, or she’d never lay Clarice out like that,” was
Anne’s comment to Patricia.
“There will be an investigation made,” continued Mrs. Vincent. “Dean
Walters is very much disturbed. Morton College has recently had a regular
epidemic of fires of late, all apparently incendiary; and she—”
“Mrs. Vincent,” interrupted Mary, “Norman Young is at the front door and
wants to see you.”
The chaperon hurried out, and, quite shamelessly, the girls kept quiet
enough to hear what was said in the hall.
“Mrs. Brock sent me over to inquire how much damage had been done, and
especially if anyone was injured,” said Norman. “If necessary, she would
accommodate three or four of the girls tonight.”
“Tell Mrs. Brock that I am very grateful for her offer,” replied Mrs.
Vincent, “but no one was harmed; and since the damage was confined
principally to one room, we shall be able to manage quite nicely without
sending anyone out.”
“Ah—” exclaimed Hazel, disappointedly.
“What are you ah-ing for?” demanded Katharine. “We’d be the ones to go.”
“Did you lose much of your stuff?” asked Patricia, putting her arm around
Frances, whose face still showed traces of tears.
“I don’t know yet.”
“Now, girls,” ordered Mrs. Vincent, coming briskly back to the parlor,
“let’s get to bed. Some of you help Evelyn upstairs, and I’ll get bedding
to put on the davenport. Katharine and Frances will have to sleep here
until we can get cleared up a little.”
It was a long time before silence settled down in the Hall. Even after
the lights were out, and she and Betty had stopped talking, Patricia lay
in her bed as wide awake as if it were noon. What was she going to say at
the investigation? Suppose Norman Young _was_ the man she had seen, what
possible object could he have had in setting fire to the Hall? It was
certainly bold of him, in that case, to come and inquire so coolly about
the damages. Yet it didn’t seem as if a perfectly respectable secretary,
however much one might be inclined to dislike him, _could_ be a fire bug.
After another hour of restless tossing, she decided to tell the whole
truth if questioned closely.