As they all pegged dismally homeward, the half-dozen thought that
Mr. Mitchell had also just about cured six Volunteers. And when the
half-dozen took off their red flannel shirts that day, they no longer
looked upon them as red badges of courage, but rather as a sort of
penitentiary uniform.
The fire department of Kingston had such another long snooze that the
half-dozen began now to rejoice in the hope that there would not be
another fire before vacation-time. They had almost forgotten that they
were Volunteers, and went about their studies and pastimes with the
fine care-freedom of glorious boyhood.
* * * * *
Then came a cold wave suddenly out of the West--a tidal wave of bitter
winds and blizzardy snow-storms, that sent the mercury down into the
shoes of the thermometer.
Things froze up with a snap that you could almost hear.
It seemed that it would be impossible even to put a nose out of the
warm rooms without hearing a sudden crackle, and seeing it drop to the
ground, and the ears after it. The very stoves had to be coaxed and
coddled to keep warm.
Jumbo said: "Why, I have to button my overcoat around my stove, and
feed it with coal in a teaspoon, to keep it from freezing to death!"
The academicians went to and from their classes on the dead run, and
even the staid professors scampered along the slippery paths with more
thought of speed than of dignity.
That night was the coldest that the oldest inhabitant of Kingston
could remember. The very winds seemed to be tearing madly about,
trying to keep warm, and screaming with pain, they were so cold! Ugh!
my ears tingle to think of it. The Lakerimmers piled the coal high in
their stoves, and piled their overcoats, and even the rugs from the
floor, over their beds.
Sleepy, whose blood was so slow that he was never warm enough in
winter and never very warm in summer, even spread all the newspapers
he could find inside his bed, and crawled in between them, having
heard that paper is one of the warmest of coverings. The journals
crackled like, popcorn every time he moved; but he moved very little
and it would have been a loud noise indeed that could have kept him
awake.
At a very early hour, then, the Volunteers and the rest of the Dozen
were as snug as bugs in rugs.
And then,--oh, merciless fate!--at the coldest and dismalest hour of
the whole twenty-four, when the night is about over and the day is not
begun, at about 3 A.M., what, oh, what! should sound, even above the
howls of the wind and the rattlings of the windows and doors, but that
fiend of a fire-bell!
It clanged and banged and clamored and boomed and pounded its way even
through the harveyized armor-plate of the Lakerim ship of sleep.
Tug was the first to wake, and his heart almost stopped with horror of
the time the old bell had chosen for making itself heard. Tug was a
brave boy, and he had a high sense of responsibility; but he had also
a high sense of the comfort of a good warm bed on a bitter cold night,
and he lay there, his heart torn up like a battle-field, where the two
angels of duty and evil fought bitterly. And he was perfectly willing
to give them plenty of time to fight it out to a finish.
* * * * *
In another room of the dormitory there was another struggle going on,
though it would be rather flattering to say that they were angels who
were struggling. The Twins had wakened at the same moment, and each
had pretended to be asleep at first. Then each had remembered that
misery loves company, and each had jabbed the other in the ribs, at
the same time.
"What bell is that?" Reddy had asked Heady, and Heady had asked Reddy,
at the same instant.
"It's that all-fired fire-bell!" both exclaimed, each answering the
other's question and his own.
"Jee-minetly! but this is a pretty time for that old thing to break
out!" wailed Reddy.
"It ought to be ashamed of itself," moaned Heady.
"It's too bad," said Reddy; "but a fireman mustn't mind the wind or
the weather."
"That's so," sighed Heady, "but I'm sorry for you."
"What!" cried Reddy, "you're sorry for _me_! What's the matter with
yourself?"
"Why, I couldn't possibly think of going out such a night as this,"
explained Heady; "you know I haven't been at all well for the last few
days."
"Oh, haven't you!" complained Reddy. "Well, you're twice as well as I
am, and you ought to be ashamed of yourself to shirk your duty this
way."
"Duty! Humph! There's nothing the matter with you! It would be
criminal for me, though, to go out a night like this, feeling as I do.
Mother would never forgive me. But you had better hurry, or you'll be
late," urged Heady.
"Hurry nothing!" said Reddy. "I'm surprised, though, to see you trying
to pretend that you're sick, and trying to send me out on a terrible
night like this when you _know_ I'm really sick."
Then the quarrel waxed fiercer and fiercer, until they quit using
words and began to apply hands and feet. It was not many minutes
before each had kicked the other out of bed, and each had carried half
of the bedclothing with him.
Neither of them remained any longer than was necessary on the cold
floor, but each grabbed up his half of the bedding, and rolled himself
up in it, and lay down with great dignity as far away from the other
as he could get, even though he hung far over the edge.
But the covers had been none too warm all together, and now, divided
into half, the Twins were soon shivering in misery. They stood it
as long as they could, and then, as if by a silent agreement, they
decided to declare a peace, and each remarked:
"I guess we're both too sick to go out such a night as this." And they
were soon asleep again.
* * * * *
When Punk heard the fire-bell, his heart grew bitter at the thought of
the still bitterer night. He did not think it proper for one of
his conservative nature to violate all the rules of health and
self-respect by going out in such rowdy weather.
He peeked over the edge of his coverlet, and saw that his stove was
still glowing, and that his own room was not on fire.
Then he reached out one quick arm and pulled his slippers into bed
with him, and when they were warm enough put them on his feet, wrapped
himself up well, and, running to the window, raised it quickly, thrust
his head out, and looked up and down the campus. This quick glance
satisfied him of two things: first, that none of the beloved Academy
buildings were on fire; and second, that he was never much interested
in the old village, anyway.
So he toddled back to his cozy bed.
B.J. was sleeping so soundly that the fire-bell could not wake him; it
simply rang in his ears and mingled with his dreams. In the land of
dreams he went to all sorts of fires, and saved thirty or forty lives,
mainly of beautiful maidens in top stories of blazing palaces. His
dreamland rescues were as heroic as any one could desire, but that was
as near as he came to answering the call of the Kingston alarm.
* * * * *
As for Sleepy, it is doubtful if the bell would have awakened him if
it had been suspended from his bed-post; but from where it was it
never reached even to his dreams, if, indeed, even dreams could have
wormed their way into his solid slumbers.
* * * * *
Tug's conscience, however, was giving him a sharper pain than he
suffered at the thought of the night outside. At length he could stand
the thought of being found wanting in his duty, no longer.
He flung himself out of bed and into his clothes, his teeth beating a
tattoo, his knees fighting a boxing-match, and his hands all thumbs
with the cold. Then he put on two pairs of trousers, three coats, and
an overcoat, two caps, several mufflers, and a pair of heavy mittens
over a pair of gloves, and flew down the stairs and dived out into the
storm like a Russian taking a plunge-bath in an icy stream. Fairly
plowing through the freezing winds, along the cinder paths he hurried,
and down the clattering board walks of the village to the building of
the fire department.
He met never a soul upon the arctic streets, and he found never a soul
at the meeting-place of the all-faithful Volunteers. What amazed him
most was that he found not even a man there to ring the bell. The
rope, however, was flouncing about in the wind, and the bell itself
was still thundering alarums over the town.
Tug's first thought at this discovery was--spooks! As is usual with
people who do not believe in ghosts, they were the first things he
thought of as an explanation of a mysterious performance.
His second thought was the right one. The hurricane had ripped off the
boarding about the bell, and the wind itself was the bell-ringer.
With a sigh of the utmost tragedy, Tug turned back toward his room. He
was colder now than ever, and by the time he reached the dormitory he
was too nearly frozen to stop and upbraid Punk and the other derelicts
who had proved false at a crisis that also proved false.
The next morning, however, he gathered them all in his room and read
them a severe lecture. They had been a disgrace to the Lakerim ideal,
he insisted, and they had only luck, and not themselves, to credit for
the fact that they were not made the laughing-stock of the town and
the Academy.
And that day the half-dozen sent in its resignation from the volunteer
fire department of the village of Kingston.