The real awakening of William to the sterling qualities of Lucien
Torrance came with the Binks' knitting factory fire. The story was
told in full detail by the newspapers at the time, but the public
memory is not long, and, because this is a record of facts, it is here
re-told, from the view-point of William and Lucien. The factory, in
which some sixty girls were employed, was a three-story building,
facing the rear of the building in which were located the offices of
Whimple and Simmons. On one side it ran so close to the latter
building that even the boys could, by a little stretching, touch the
sill of a window to the right of the window in the room that served as
office for William and waiting-room for his employer's clients.
The fire broke out one hot afternoon in August in the lower floor of
the factory, and, as the building was "modern and fire-proof," the
flames naturally spread at a terrific rate. Some thirty of the girls
managed to escape from the lower floor at once. The escape of the
others was cut off completely, the one iron ladder, designated as a
fire escape, and running down to the ground, being, on its lower rungs,
"wrapped in flame," as the reporters have it.
William and Lucien, who had been making faces at some of the girls at
the time the fire broke out, were shocked into helplessness for a
moment. Lucien recovered first. "Quick," he said, grasping William by
the arm, "we can help." He half pulled William into Simmons' room,
"Grab the other end," he commanded, curtly, himself seizing one end of
what appeared to be a long table top. In reality it consisted of three
stout planks braced together underneath, and resting on scantling
supports. Several plans were pinned to the top, and these Lucien
yanked off without ceremony. Between them the boys carried the table
top to the window, and, though for a few seconds it seemed that their
combined strength was not equal to the demand on it, they succeeded in
placing one end of it on the sill of the open factory window, around
which the imprisoned girls were gathered, some screaming wildly, others
pale-faced, but quiet. A rough bridge was thus formed between the
factory and Whimple's office. Lucien crossed it first, with William a
close second. The boys urged the girls to "get a move on, one at a
time," but it was not until William had escorted the heaviest one
across to Whimple's office that the others, despite the rapid approach
of the fire, could be persuaded to venture. Convinced of the safety of
the "bridge," they began to make the journey rapidly enough. Lucien
calmly and quietly encouraged them. William said nothing, but he
carried out with alacrity every suggestion Lucien made.
By this time a detachment of the fire brigade was on the scene. Three
of the firemen, with a hose, rushed up the front stairs of Whimple's
office and to the window through which the girls were coming.
"Well, I'll be swizzled," said one of them, excitedly, "who made the
bridge?"
One of the girls paused a moment before leaving the office. "Two
boys," she cried, hysterically, "they're in the factory helping the
other girls."
"Bully for them," shouted one of the firemen. The next moment he
hurried across the "bridge," which bore his weight splendidly, and
assisted the boys. Other firemen, with more hose, arrived, and several
streams of water were soon playing on the factory walls below the
"bridge."
"We'll save this building, anyway," said one of the firemen, handling a
hose from one of Whimple's windows. And save it they did.
As the last girl crossed the bridge, the fireman who had been assisting
Lucien and William ordered them to get out quickly. The big room was
now full of smoke, the lads and the firemen were almost choked with it,
and tongues of flame were beginning to lick one of the wooden partition
walls. Just as the man spoke, the partition fell. A burning scantling
struck Lucien on the head and sent him to the floor. In a moment
William grabbed the burning timber with his bare hands and tried to
lift it, but without the assistance of the fireman, who inserted his
hook-axe under it, and added a man's strength to that of the boy's, he
would not have been successful. Lucien was still conscious when they
picked him up, and, with the assistance of William, made the journey
across the "bridge" to Whimple's office in safety. Here kindly hands
temporarily bound up his wounds and those of William too, the latter
meanwhile asserting loudly, "Lucien did it; he thought of it; Lucien
did it."
Finally, Lucien's parched and cracked lips parted in a smile.
"Couldn't have done it without you, William," he gasped, and then the
floor, so William Adolphus Turnpike afterwards solemnly asserted, rose
up and hit him, and he knew nothing more until, in the evening, he woke
up in a private ward in St. Michael's Hospital. There were only two
beds in that ward. When William opened his eyes, a kindly faced
nursing sister was bending over him.
"Where's Lucien?" he demanded.
The sister smiled. "In the bed near you," she said, gently; "his
mother and father have just left him; he's----"
William sat straight up in the bed. "Say," he said, brokenly, "he
ain't going to die, is he?"
"No," she answered, "he's doing splendidly, and he's fast asleep."
William laughed happily. "Oh, but he's a pippin, a real pippin; and me
thinking he was a dub. If he wakes up, and I'm asleep, nurse, you can
tell him from me that I'm a mutt. He's the real thing, is Lucien."
Then he looked down at his hands, swathed in bandages, and grinned.
"Kinder early for winter mitts," he said. "Gee, but my hands sting!
Has my Ma and Pa been here?"
"They're here now, waiting to see you. They've been here for two
hours, William."
"Two hours! and me lying on the downy while they're worryin'.
Me--uh!--I ain't worth it."
The sister opened the door, and Mr. and Mrs. Turnpike, with anxious
faces and eyes somewhat dimmed, were soon bending over their boy,
kissing him, and whispering words of love and praise and sympathy.
After their farewells, William turned to the sister with shining eyes.
"Nobody ever had a Ma and Pa like mine," he said, "and my hands are
sore, but I'm tired--tired--" he closed his eyes--"and I'm a mutt.
Lucien's got it on me all over when it comes to a show down." And
William slept.
There followed a strange experience for the two boys. Reporters
interviewed them, and the interviews mostly read as though the boys
were past masters in the use of correct English. One enterprising
reporter wrote up William's story just as the lad gave it. The
majority of readers appreciated that interview because the lad's
language appealed to them, but by the time the editor of the newspaper
in which it appeared had read the third letter from "pro bono publico,"
protesting against the putting of so much slang into the mouth of a
mere child, he regretted that he had not made the reporter re-write it.
Being human, he, of course, lectured the reporter with asperity, and
the reporter, being a man of spirit, instead of taking the lecture to
heart, resigned, entered the field of literature, and, in a
comparatively short time, became a noted writer of short stories. He
blessed William at the time and ever afterwards for opening his eyes to
the possibilities of the boy in fiction--and fact.
Two days in the hospital was enough for William. He gave his ultimatum
to Ma and Pa after the mayor had called upon Lucien and himself to
express admiration "on behalf of the citizens of Toronto," and informed
them that they were to be presented with gold watches "as a permanent
token of appreciation of their bravery."
William insisted on going home that day. "Another day here," he said,
"with bunches of people buttin' in and slobberin' over me, and I'm a
dead one. Besides! it was all Lucien; I'm no bloomin' hero."
Lucien was sick of it too, but, because his injuries were the more
serious, he had perforce to stay a little longer in the hospital.
The presentation of the watches was made in the mayor's office one week
after the fire. It was a painful ceremony, so far as the boys were
concerned, and they were immensely relieved when the last word had been
said, and their admiring parents were allowed to proudly escort them to
their respective homes.