A FALSE ALARM
What a demonstration awaited the victors when they trundled their
engine back to the grove! It seemed that every man from Lakeville
wanted to shake hands with the boys.
"You've done the town more good than if you gave it a marble
monument!" exclaimed Mayor Appelby, enthusiastically, as he greeted
Herbert. "You've woke our sleepy village up, and I look for better
times now. I'm going to run for mayor again. It's an honor."
"We'll see who'll be mayor," murmured Moses Sagger, who had come to
the picnic after all. "If them boys think they can run things they'll
find themselves very much mistaken."
The other engine companies, now that the fires were out, returned to
the grove. They gathered around Bert and his lads, while Mr. Bergman,
with a neat little speech, presented the young chief with a handsome
silver trumpet.
"And while I wish you all success," he said in conclusion, "I also
hope that through this trumpet you may give the order 'Take up' as
quickly at every fire which occurs in Lakeville, as you did it to-day
in this contest. You boys certainly worked fast, and I believe the
'devouring element,' as the poets call it, will take a back seat, now
that we have such an efficient department to handle our two chemical
engines."
"Hurrah for Lakeville!" yelled half a hundred voices.
"Three cheers for Mr. Bergman!" shouted others.
"Three cheers for the boys with the hand engine!" proposed Bert, for
he wanted to encourage the little chaps.
"They couldn't have put that fire out if it hadn't been for my
force-pump!" murmured Cole, amid the cheers that followed.
"Say, if you mention force-pump again to-day," threatened Tom Donnell,
"we'll stand you up in front of it, and douse you good."
"Well, it's a fine pump," retorted Cole, taking care to get beyond
Tom's reach.
There was more cheering and applause, the unfortunate Weedsport crew
being given an extra cheer to make up for the bad luck it had
encountered.
There were more games, a great dinner, some speech-making by the men,
additional athletic contests among the firemen, and the picnic was
brought to a close.
"Line up, Lakeville!" cried Herbert, through his trumpet. The boys
manned the ropes of the three engines, including the old hand affair.
They made a brilliant picture in their red shirts, blue trousers and
shining helmets, and Bert proudly carried the glistening trophy where
it would show to the best advantage.
With final cheers for each other the four fire departments separated,
to march to their respective villages. It had been a great day, and,
as Mr. Bergman had said, Lakeville had taken several steps forward in
the way of progress.
"Well, we didn't do so bad," remarked Vincent to Bert, as they were on
their way along the home road.
"No," replied the young chief, "but there's one thing we've got to
look out for."
"What's that?"
"We must not use so much of the solution out of the tank. A small
stream will do as much work, and it will last longer."
"That's so. We can't fill the tanks up very well while a fire is in
progress."
"That's it. This afternoon, if the blaze had lasted a few minutes
longer, there wouldn't have been any chemicals to squirt on it. It was
my fault. I opened the valve too wide. We must remember that when we
have a real fire."
As the young firemen entered the village, many, who had been to the
picnic, but had come home early, crowded out to see them. The bells on
the three engines clanged out in peals of victory, and when Bert
started up a song, his comrades joined in with him.
As the two companies separated, one to go to the town hall, and the
other to Cole's barn, a man stepped from the crowd, and approached
Bert.
"Well, I see you won," he remarked pleasantly, and the young chief,
looking up, saw the tramp he had rescued from the water.
"Yes. Were you there?"
"I saw the final contest. Couldn't get away to spend the whole day,
though I would have liked to. I had to work."
"Where are you working? In town here?" asked Bert, for he was quite
interested in the young man.
"Yes, I'm employed at the Stockton mansion."
"At the Stockton mansion?" repeated Bert, greatly surprised. What he
had heard regarding that mysterious house came freshly to his mind.
"Why, I didn't know there was any business being done there,
Mr.--er--Mr. ah--"
He paused, for it just occurred to him that he did not know the
tramp's name.
The tramp--no, we shall call him that no more, for he was no longer of
that class--the man, then, smiled.
"Decker is my name," he said. "Mortimer Decker, though most of my
friends--what few I have left--call me Mort. As I consider you a
friend of mine, you may do so, Herbert. You see I know your name, for
you're sort of a public character."
"I don't know about that, but I'm glad you've gotten a place, Mort."
"Yes, after my little experience in the brook I decided to get some
work to do here if possible. I heard that the man who lived in that
big mansion was rich, and I thought he might want a private secretary,
or a stenographer and typewriter. I learned who lived there, but when
I inquired at the place an old woman said Mr. Stockton had gone away."
"I believe he has, but there seems to be something queer about it,"
said Bert. "No one saw him go, and, though he never used to be seen
much around the village, still we did have occasional glimpses of him.
Now no one has seen him for some time."
"So it appears. But the old woman--Blarcum, she said her name
was--called a young man to talk to me. He was Alfred Muchmore, Mr.
Stockton's nephew, and, after I had told him what I could do, he
engaged me."
"I didn't think he had any work you could do," said Bert, recalling
the rumor he had heard, that Muchmore was a professional gambler.
"Well, he has quite a lot of business papers to copy, and I am doing
that for him. He pays me well. Still, I can't say that I altogether
like the place."
"Why not?"
Mort Decker came closer to Herbert, though no one was then near them,
the boys of the department being too interested in cleaning the
engine, refilling it, and putting it in the barn, to pay attention to
anything else.
"There's something queer about that house," said Mort in a whisper.
"Queer? How do you mean?"
"Well, Muchmore seems afraid that I will go into some rooms where I
have no business. Once I was going down a long corridor, when he
called me back, and said those were his private apartments, and no one
was allowed there. Then, again, I was just going into a room that the
old housekeeper said contained fine paintings, for I am very fond of
pictures, but Mr. Muchmore thrust me back, and seemed quite excited.
Then, too, the housekeeper seems very much afraid of the young nephew.
I believe there is some secret connected with that house."
"So do I," declared Bert, and he told Mort of his experience when the
fire had occurred.
"I'll keep my eyes open, and see if I can learn anything," promised
the stenographer. "If I hear anything I'll let you know. I can't
invite you to call and see me, for I'm afraid Muchmore wouldn't like
it. But the first chance I get I'll come down and see you."
"I wish you would," replied Bert. "You'll generally find me at one of
the engine houses, at least until school opens. Then I've got to begin
my studies again."
"Well, good-bye," said Mort, as he left, while Bert went to the barn,
to see that the chemical tank was properly filled, in readiness for an
alarm.
As yet, beyond the one blaze in a small shed in the village, the
engines had not been tested at a real fire, nor had the new alarm
system been called on to show how much of an aid it was in enabling
the department to respond quickly. Several boxes had been installed in
different parts of the town, all running to the two fire-houses, as
the basement of the town hall and Cole's barn were designated. By
means of a simple switchboard arrangement, and a code of signals,
given on a gong, it could be told at once which box was pulled. In
addition the new bell on the tall steel tower would ring an alarm to
awaken those members of the department who were asleep at home.
There was a short meeting of the fire department one night, in Cole's
barn, where various matters were talked over, and the boys had not
dispersed more than an hour, when there sounded an alarm from the
tower. At the same time there rang out on the apparatus in Cole's
barn, the number of a box located near the Stockton mansion.
"There's another fire at the house of mystery," cried Cole, for the
boys had given the mansion that designation. "Come on, fellows. Let's
see if we can't do better this time than we did with our hand engine."
While he was speaking he was drawing on his rubber boots, for, like
his companions, he had gotten ready for bed. Before the alarm had
ceased ringing (for it sounded the box number automatically four
times, once it was started) the engine was being pulled out of
quarters.
There were only eight boys on duty in the barn, and the task of
pulling the heavy engine up the hill to the Stockton mansion was not
easy. But, before they were half way there, they were met by several
of their comrades, who grabbed the rope.
"Come on! Come on!" yelled Bert, who was among the first to arrive
from home. "Don't let the fire get too much of a start!"
They toiled on, and, as they rounded a and came in sight of the big
house, there was not a sign of fire.
"That's queer," remarked the young chief. "I wonder if there's
something wrong with the signal apparatus."
"What's the matter, boys? Out for a practice drill?" asked a voice,
and Herbert and his chums saw, in the glare from the lamps on the
engine, Mr. Alfred Muchmore coming out of the driveway that led to the
big house.
"We came in response to a fire alarm," said Bert, "but I don't see any
blaze."
"Blaze? There isn't any. I don't understand it. I don't want you boys
around here. You'd better leave."
That was rather queer, coming from a man to whom they expected to be
of service. Bert and his chums were puzzled.
"False alarm! False alarm!" suddenly yelled a voice from the bushes
that lined the roadway. "I sent it in, you old miser, to get even with
you! Maybe you'll say 'Thanks' next time, Mr. Muchmore, when we put
out a real fire in your place," and a lad, whom Bert recognized as
rather an undesirable character about the village, dashed from the
shrubbery, and ran off down the road, laughing at the trick he had
played.