SINGING A DIFFERENT TUNE
From various directions came running the young members of the
volunteer fire department. The bucket brigade was also on hand, and
had formed a line from the town pump, which stood near the store, as
close to the burning shop as they dared to go. The whole interior
seemed a mass of flames.
"Where will we get water?" shouted Cole to Bert, who had arrived on
the run.
"Back the engine down to the brook!" cried the young captain. "Isn't
the hose long enough to reach from there?"
"Yep! Plenty!"
"Then back her down!"
The flames were crackling and roaring, and the smoke was so thick and
choking, because of the burning meats and fats, that it was impossible
to go very close. The bucket brigade had to beat a retreat, and,
though they had the satisfaction of first getting water on the blaze,
it was an empty honor.
"Lively, now, boys!" cried Bert. "Take one nozzle, Vincent! George,
you grab another! Hold 'em here, and we'll unreel the hose when we
back the engine!"
It was rather hard work to push the clumsy machine down through the
yard of the house adjoining the butcher shop, to where the brook
flowed back of the store. But it was accomplished by the boys unaided,
for the men were busy trying to find some means of using their
buckets.
"Dip and fill!" cried Bert, as the corps of pail handlers lined up
from the engine to the brook.
Water began to splash into the tank and soon there was enough to begin
pumping. Up and down went the long handles, impelled by the sturdy
arms of ten boys.
"Wait!" cried Cole. "You're not using my force pump. Somebody take the
hose. I'll work her!"
"I will!" cried Dick Harris, glad of the chance to handle a nozzle,
even if it was only a small one, and unreeling the garden hose Cole
had attached to his beloved pump, he started toward the burning
butcher shop.
The young firemen soon found they had all they could do in quenching
this fire. It was the fiercest one they had yet undertaken to subdue.
It was so hot that the boys at the nozzles had to be relieved every
few minutes, and Bert was kept busy making shifts from the bucket
corps or from among the pumpers.
The men's bucket brigade could only throw water on from the rear,
where the fire was less hot, but the boys pluckily stuck to the front,
and directed their three streams into the midst of the flames. Clouds
of steam arose as the fluid fell on the hot embers.
"Can't you throw any more water on?" demanded Mr. Sagger, who
continued to run up and down in front of his place, deploring his
loss.
"We're doing the best we can," answered Bert.
"We ought to have a regular department, that's what we ought to have!"
declared the butcher. "It's a shame that business men have to suffer
losses by fire. What we need is a regular department here, with a
steam fire engine."
"He's singing a different tune from what he did a week or so ago,"
thought Bert. "Then the bucket brigade was good enough. I guess he
wishes we had two volunteer departments now."
It seemed as if the whole shop must go. The fire, as they learned
later, had started in the sawdust packing of the ice box, and it had
been smouldering for some time before being discovered. Then, with the
sawdust and pine wood to feed on, in addition to the fat meats, the
flames were more from what it had been at the Stockton blaze.
"Do you think you can save part of it?" asked the butcher, anxiously,
of Bert. The man's manner toward the young fireman was quite different
from what it had been at the Stockton.
"We're doing our best, Mr. Sagger," replied the young captain. "It's a
hard fire to fight. The bucket brigade could come up closer now, the
flames aren't quite so hot."
"That's so. I'll tell 'em." He ran to where the members of the
department to which he belonged were futilely passing buckets of
water.
"Why don't you come around front and closer?" the butcher asked them.
"You ain't doing any good here!"
"Why don't you take a hand yourself?" demanded Silas Lampert. "You
ain't doing anything but running up and down."
"I'll help," declared Mr. Sagger. "I declare, I don't know what I am
doing! This will be a heavy loss to me!"
"I guess you can stand it," murmured Mr. Lampert. "You got lots of
money salted down, same as you have your pork."
"Come on, help me save the shop!" cried the butcher, and his fellow
members of the bucket brigade followed him.
Fortunately, there was not much meat in the ice box, and when it had
all been consumed, and there was only wood for the fire to feed on,
the blaze was less fierce. The water from the three lines of hose and
that dashed on by the men, who could now approach quite close, had its
effect. In a little while the fire was about out, and Bert ordered the
boys to use only one line of hose, which made it easier on the pumpers
and bucket lads. Then, with a final hiss and splutter, the fire died
away.
"It's a terrible loss!" declared the butcher, as he contemplated the
ruins of his shop. "I'll lose over a thousand dollars."
"Haven't you any insurance?" asked Mr. Appelby.
"Yes, it's fully covered by insurance; but think of the trade I'll
lose until I can build a new shop!"
"Oh, I guess you can put up some kind of a shack that will do for a
while. We don't need much meat in the summer time."
"I tell you what it is!" exclaimed Mr. Sagger, "we've got to have a
regular department, mayor; that's what we have! We can't have business
places burn up this way. Why, it will ruin the town!"
"Well, if the taxpayers wanted a hired department they can have it,"
declared Mr. Appelby. "But it will cost money."
"Well, it ought to come out of the town treasury," went on the
butcher. "Taxes is high enough now. Maybe we could get an engine
cheap, somewhere."
"What's the matter with paying the boys for theirs?" asked the mayor.
"No, we want men to run the department," objected the butcher.
"Those boys are as good as men," asserted Mr. Appelby, as he watched
the lads, under Bert's direction, take up their hose and get the
engine in shape for returning to quarters. "I guess old Sagger is
afraid his taxes will go up. But we do need a regular department," he
added to himself.
As Bert was getting the boys together to haul the engine back to the
barn, he was approached by a man who emerged from the crowd.
"You did fine work," the man said, in a low voice.
Bert looked at him. It was the tramp stenographer he had pulled from
the brook.
"How do you do!" the boy exclaimed. "How are you getting on?"
"First rate. I braced up after I met you. Guess that little bath did
me good. I did some odd jobs for the farmers around here, and my
health is better. Here's that quarter back."
"I don't want it."
"I suppose not; but I want to pay it. I've got a little money saved
up, and the promise of a good job at my profession."
"Where?"
"Here in town. I'll tell you about it later, as I see you're busy,"
and, before Bert could ask any more questions, the tramp, whose
appearance had improved considerably since the brook episode, was lost
in the throng.
"That's queer," thought Bert. "I wonder who in this town would want a
stenographer and typewriter?"