TRAGIC HOURS
And now while these young people are having a care-free, happy time in
the beautiful Orange Hill country, let us return to the East Side that is
sweltering in the heat of late June.
It was nine o'clock at night and the air was still breathlessly stifling.
The playground that edged the East River was thronged with neighboring
folk who had brought what portable bedding they had and who planned
sleeping upon the ground out-of-doors to catch some possible breeze from
over the water.
Many of these people were residents of the rickety tenement across from
the model apartments, but one there was who had been unable to leave the
small, hot room that she called home, and that one was Mrs. Wilovich.
She was not alone, nor had she been, for all that day Lena May had been
at her bedside.
"She cannot last the night out," the visiting district nurse had said.
"Hastn't she any own folks to stay with her till it's all over?"
"I shall stay," little Lena May had replied.
"You? Do you think you ought? You're a mere girl. Aren't there some women
in this house who'd do that much for a neighbor?"
"I am seventeen," was the quiet reply, "and Mrs. Wilovich would rather
have me. She never made friends among the neighbors."
"Well, as you wish," the busy nurse had said. "I have many more places to
visit this evening, so I can't stay; and, anyway, there's nothing to do
but to let her----"
"Hush, please, don't say it. Little Tony might hear," Lena May had
implored in a whisper as she glanced at the child curled up on the floor
as though he were asleep.
When the nurse was gone, Dean Wiggin appeared in the open doorway, as he
had many times that day and evening. Nell had been called to the country
to see about the small farm which their foster-father had bequeathed
them, or she would have been with Lena May. Gloria had left at eight to
take her evening classes at the Settlement, and had promised to return at
ten and remain with her sister until the end.
The giant of a lad, with his helpless arm that was always held in one
position as it had been in slings so long ago, glanced first at the woman
in the bed, and then at the girl who advanced to him.
"Can't I stay now?" he spoke softly. "I've closed the shop and the
office. Isn't there anything that I can do to help?"
"No, Dean, I don't need you, and there isn't room; but I do wish that you
would take Tony out of doors. It is stifling here."
The little fellow seemed to hear his name. He rose and went to Dean. The
lad lifted Tony with his strong right arm. "I'll take him down to the
docks a while," he told the girl. "Put a light in the window if you want
me."
Lena May said that she would. Then for a time the young girl stood in the
open window watching the moving lights out on the river. At last she
turned back and glanced at the bed. The mother lay so quiet and so white
that Lena May believed that she had passed into the land where there is
no sweltering, crowded East Side. She was right. The tired soul had taken
its flight. The girl was about to place the lamp in the window to recall
Dean when she paused and listened. What a strange roaring sound she
heard, and how intensely hot it was becoming. In another moment there was
a wild cry of "Fire! Fire!" from the playground.
Lena May sprang to the open door. She knew there was but one fire escape
and that at the extreme rear of the long, dark hallway. That very day she
had noticed that it was piled high with rubbish. Then she must make her
escape by the narrow, rickety front stairs. Down the top flight she ran,
only to find that the flight beneath her was a seething mass of flame.
She darted back into the small room and closed the door. Then she ran to
the open window and called for help, but the roaring of the flames
drowned her voice. However, she was seen, and several firemen ran forward
with a ladder, but a rear wall crashed in and they leaped back.
At that moment a lad darted up and pushed his way through the crowd. "Put
the ladder up to that window," he commanded, pointing to where Lena May,
pale and quiet, was still standing.
"By heck, we won't! It's sure death to climb up there. The wall's rocking
even now. Stand back, everybody," the chief shouted; but one there was
who did not obey. With superhuman effort he lifted the ladder. Several
men seeing that he was determined helped him place it, then ran back, and
left the lad to scale it alone. Never before had Dean so regretted his
useless arm.
"God, give me strength!" he cried; then mounted the ladder. He could feel
it sway. Flames leaped from the windows as he passed. He caught at the
rounds with his left hand as well as his right, and up, up he went. The
girl leaned far out. "Drop down. Hold to the window sill! I'll catch
you," the lad called. Lena May did as she was told, and, clinging to the
top round with his left hand, Dean clasped the girl's waist with his
strong right arm and climbed down as fast as he could go. He did not
realize that he was using his left arm. He had to, it was a matter of
life and death. A pain like that made by a hot branding iron shot through
his shoulder, but even this he did not know.
Firemen rushed forward and took the girl from him, and none too soon, for
with a terrific roar the fire burst through the roof, which caved in;
then the wall tottered and crashed down about them.
"Where's that boy? The one that went up the ladder?" people were asking
on all sides. Where was he, indeed?