FIRE!
The Custer School at East Hampton always put a snappy and thoroughly
aggressive ball team in the field and Pennington always arranged to
crowd that game past the middle of its season, so that there was no
chance of the East Hampton boys catching her with an under-developed
team.
It was the only over-night trip on the Pennington schedule and Coach
Rice summoned the team to appear at the gymnasium ready to take the bus
for the three-thirty afternoon train on Friday for a five-hour ride to
East Hampton.
It was a lively party that gathered with suitcases, bats and gloves
in the big gym. doorway when Terry McCall, the bus driver, swung his
big yellow automobile stage down the drive and backed up to receive
the load of passengers. Of course, the stage was not large enough to
accommodate the whole squad of fourteen boys without crowding and there
was a lively scramble for seats and some horse play before they all
managed to wedge themselves in somehow and get adjusted as the bus
started snorting and lurching toward the station.
They only just made the train. It stood puffing impatiently in the
station when Terry swung his bus around with a flourish, and the boys
streamed out of the rear door and rushed madly for the steps of the day
coach. A train trip with a baseball team is always a merry party as
Jeff knew for he had taken more than one as a member of the New City
Y. M. C. A. team the year before, and he joined in the general fun and
gentlemanly boisterousness they indulged in as they took possession of
a day coach that held few occupants besides themselves.
But the boisterousness gradually subsided as hour after hour of
wearying train travel rolled by, and long before they reached East
Hampton even the noisiest of them had long since subsided, raising only
an occasional appeal for “eats.”
It was a hungry crew of boys who detrained at East Hampton and made a
rush for the Custer School stage that stood backed into the graveled
approach waiting for them. And then the clamor that they raised once
they got inside was a noisy call for food, for it had been arranged
that they would take their evening meal, a little late to be sure, in
the dining hall of the school whose baseball team they were to cross
bats with the next day.
That evening meal, however, turned out to be a miniature banquet, for
the managers of the Custer School team had arranged to have the boys
of their squad eat with the Pennington group and a really elaborate
spread had been arranged, which was concluded with speeches by the
team captains and the coaches and any of the boys who could in any way
provide entertainment “stunts.”
The last “stunt” on the program was a really clever dialogue between
the Custer School captain, Roy Milliken, and the team’s mascot,
“Spike,” a Boston bull dog of very likeable disposition. Roy and Spike
talked to each other in “dog language.” Spike, apparently uninvited,
jumped on top of the table and stood in front of Roy with one foot in a
dish of olives. Roy pretended to be horrified at the dog’s conduct and
proceeded to scold the animal in surly tones, whereupon Spike began to
talk back in barks and growls until he seemed to work himself up to a
furious pitch. The little act had all the fellows in stitches before
it was concluded and the more they laughed the more Spike seemed to
enjoy himself, barking and growling and raising a terrible to-do until
Roy affectionately swept him off the table into his arms and gave him
several caressing pats on the head before putting him on the floor
where he proceeded to make the rounds of the boys in the room, getting
acquainted with all the new fellows from Pennington.
Jeff loved dogs and when the animal got around to him he picked him up
in his arms and stroked him and playfully pulled his ears, and the dog,
satisfied, snuggled down in his arms and stayed there until the party
broke up and the boys began to leave for their rooms.
Arrangements had been made to have the Pennington boys occupy extra
rooms on the second floor of one of the school buildings during their
stay and the entire squad was conducted across the campus by the boys
of Custer School with whom they had become really chummy.
It was a big, old fashioned brick building, which a half a century
before had represented the entire school, class rooms, dormitories
and master’s quarters all being in the one structure. But the school
had grown since and the original building was now one of the minor
buildings of the school group and given over entirely to rooms for most
of the members of the junior class.
As at Pennington, Jeff and Wade were roommates and it was with a sigh
of relief that they found the room they were to occupy, turned on the
lights and threw themselves onto the two couch beds that occupied
opposite corners.
“Oh, my, I’m tired out,” said Jeff, beginning to unlace his shoes.
“So am I. But we’ve had a bully time so far, haven’t we?”
“I’ll say so,” said Jeff, suppressing a yawn as he kicked off his
trousers.
“Some nice fellows at this school. I like ’em all. They are a bunch of
huskies, too. Bet they can play ball,” said Wade, crawling into the top
piece of his pajamas.
“We’ll know to-morrow, old son. Last in turns out the light. I’m in,”
yelled Jeff, tumbling under the blankets and settling down on his
pillow.
Wade snapped out the lights and followed Jeff’s example, and in less
than five minutes’ time husky snores began to make the room noisy.
A terrific clatter and clanging, yells and the tramp of feet awakened
Jeff. He sat bolt upright in bed with a strange frightened feeling. The
terrific medley of sounds continued, and above the racket he heard the
shriek of a weird whistle――a fire siren.
“Wade! Fire!” he exclaimed. Then he added, “Great cats, the room is
full of smoke. It’s here. In this building. Wade! Wade!”
He bounced out of bed and went groping about the room in the blackness
trying to find the electric light switch. He found it, snapped it on
but no light responded. The electric current had failed.
“Jiminy crickets! No light! This is a mess! Wade! Wade!”
“Wad’deyah wan’?” grumbled Wade sleepily. Jeff heard him toss in his
bed.
“Asleep in all this racket. Think of that,” cried Jeff groping toward
Wade’s corner of the room. He found the bed and seizing his roommate he
shook him roughly.
“Lemme go. Git out, you chump,” grumbled the still sleeping Wade
kicking violently at Jeff.
“Come out of this, you chump,” yelled Jeff, seizing him and dragging
him from the bed to the floor.
Wade fell out of bed with a thump and grumblingly got to his feet.
“What’s all the infernal racket for, Jeff? What’s―― Say, I smell smoke.
Jeff! What――!”
“Oh, you do smell smoke, do you? It’s about time. My golly, the house
could burn down on top of you and you’d never wake up. Get into some
clothes, quick. Remember where you put ’em? Lights are gone. Have to
get something on in the dark. Hurry. Room’s full of smoke,” cried Jeff
feeling about in places where he remembered putting his clothes.
He found his coat, trousers and shoes, and he made haste to get them
all on, meanwhile feeling about him for his suit case that contained
his baseball uniform. He found both his own and Wade’s together and
seizing them he cried to Wade:
“Come on, for goodness’ sakes. We’re about the last ones in the
building I guess.” Coughing with the smoke that was getting into
his lungs as it swept through the room on the draught created by the
open window, Jeff crossed the room, stumbling over various articles of
clothing that strewed the room. Gropingly he reached the door and found
the knob. A moment he waited as he called:
“Wade, are you ready?”
“Yes, let’s get out of here quick,” said Wade, bumping into him as he,
too, groped for the door.
“All right. We’ve got to open the door and close it quickly though,
because there is no telling what the draught might do in the way of
bringing the fire this way. Ready. Let’s go.”
Jeff swung open the door and stepped out into the hall and Wade crowded
close behind him. They slammed the door shut with a bang and looked
around.
A dull red glow, ugly and sinister, lighted the long hall, and clouds
of smoke, thick and black and disconcerting, rolled past them. The
noises in the building had ceased but outside they could hear shouts
and calls, the tooting of fire engines’ whistles, the sound of breaking
glass and the swishing slosh and steady pounding of streams of water.
“My goodness, the firemen have their hose lines going already!” Jeff
exclaimed to Wade. “We must be the last ones in the building. All the
rest have cleared out long ago.”
“Yes, and I wonder if we are going to get out before we get trapped,”
said Wade with an unmistakable note of concern in his voice.
“Sure, we will,” said Jeff with encouragement that he did not entirely
feel.
“Well, let’s go. But which way? Listen! What’s that noise? Sounds
horrible!” exclaimed Wade.
Jeff listened and cold chills crept up and down his back. It was a
steadily growing moaning roar――the voice of the fire as it gathered
in volume and swept through the building. A sinister crackling sound
accompanied it, too, and the dull glow through the smoke grew brighter.
“Jiminy, that’s some fire,” cried Jeff, becoming slightly panic
stricken as he realized how close the fire was.
They started down the hallway together, making in the direction they
felt the stairs must lay. They hurried forward, through the smoke that
was thickening fast, protecting their eyes and nose with their free
arms while they lugged their suit cases with the other.
“Jiminy, where are those stairs?” panted Wade after a moment.
“Just ahead, I’m sure,” coughed Jeff.
“See any red exit lights? Might be a short way to a fire escape,” said
Wade.
“Nope, all the lights in the building are out, evidently. I wonder if
the fire started in the power plant in the basement. Bet it did. Seems
to me――”
_Crash! Bang!_
Somewhere down stairs in the building came a terrific, crashing
explosion. Jeff and Wade staggered under the concussion, and the whole
building shivered and shook for the fraction of a second.
“Great cats, what was that?” cried Wade in real terror.
“Must have been a boiler in the basement. Come on, for goodness’ sakes,
let’s get out of here or we’ll be trapped sure,” cried Jeff, for a
moment losing control of himself and permitting utter panic to sway
him.
But an instant later he got a firmer grip on himself and began to
think more clearly than he had at any time since he first discovered
the fire. Thicker, blacker smoke was rolling into the hallway now and
behind them Jeff could hear the roar of flames more clearly. There was
a peculiar slope to the floor, too, which led Jeff to believe that
somewhere down the hall in the direction from which they had come a
hole had been torn in the floor by the explosion. He realized instantly
that if this were true that hole would create a new draught that would
bring the flames up onto their floor in terrific volume.
“Quick, Wade, we’ve got to move mighty fast now or the whole building
will be in flames. Wow, there are the stairs. There, right ahead.”
Outlined through the smoke he could see the iron railings of the
stairway, and seizing Wade by the arm he plunged toward them, Wade
following eagerly beside him.
They reached the top step and started down. Great clouds of thick,
black, gaseous smoke were rolling upward toward them. They wondered
vaguely whether they could struggle through them and make the first
floor and the open air safely. Down stairs they could hear the flames
roaring louder than ever. They could hear the hiss and spatter of hose
lines, too, and the thunder of the water pounding against the floor and
side walls.
“Must be a ripper of a fire. Listen to the water they are pouring into
it,” exclaimed Jeff, as they started down the stair well.
Down they went step by step, working their way cautiously, for by this
time they could not see where they were putting their feet and each
had a vague fear that at any moment they might step off into space and
go tumbling down the stair well, so thick was the smoke. The draught
was drawing it up the stair well in ever increasing volume and Jeff
realized that ere long the flames would follow. He knew that they must
get clear of the stairs as soon as possible and out of the building
before many minutes had passed or else they would be doomed. Already
they were both nearly suffocated with the terrible nauseating smoke
fumes.
They continued on. Presently they reached a landing and a bend in the
stairs; as they turned they could behold part of the flame-swept lower
story of the building, and they gasped with horror as they realized
what a terrific fire was developing there. It was a veritable furnace
toward the far end of the structure, and they realized too that the
flames were sweeping toward their end of the building with terrifying
speed. The structure was surely doomed.
Presently they reached the floor, and found themselves in a cooling
draught that came evidently from an opened door that led to the campus.
They could not see the doorway for the smoke, but they knew in which
direction safety lay and they turned to go.
But as they did, a strangely pitiful sound came to Jeff’s ears. It was
the sharp whimper of a dog in pain and fright. It came from somewhere
up the hall, and Jeff stopped and clutched Wade’s arm.
“Listen. That must be Spike, their mascot. Bet he’s caught in the
building. We ought to save him, Wade, if we can.”
“Yes, but where is he? We ought to save ourselves, too, Jeff. Come on,
boy. Don’t take a chance. Safety is right ahead. Let’s get out while
we can.”
“You go, Wade. There, I heard him again. He must be right here
somewheres. You go on out. I’ll follow directly. Just want to find
that pup. Go, Wade,” and Jeff shoved his roommate ahead of him toward
the door and turned back to find Spike, whose whimper he could still
faintly hear.
Jeff was coughing and gagging with the smoke. His lungs felt as if they
would burst for want of a breath of pure air and his head spun with the
blood that was pent up there, yet he took a half dozen steps into the
swirling smoke, calling at the same time in hope that the dog would
come to him. Presently he found himself in the stair well again, with
the thick black cloud of smoke sweeping past him. He turned and stepped
aside to avoid the terrible volume of the smoke borne upward on the
draught, and called again and again hopefully. But as far as he could
make out not even an answering whimper was uttered.
“Perhaps he’s found his own way out. In that case I guess I’d better
be going myself,” said Jeff aloud. Then turning, he started in the
direction he thought the doorway lay. A half dozen steps forward he
walked, groping blindly. But his hands came in contact with nothing
at all. Had he gone in the right direction? No, the door was this way
to the left. He moved to his left a little and tried again, only to
presently fetch up against a blank wall. This startled him. Perhaps
the door was here. He groped about again, panic mounting swiftly. He
stepped briskly forward and the next moment he beheld with terror that
he was facing tongues of flames that were advancing toward him.
Hastily he retreated. Then in his excitement he tried to recall which
was the front and which was the back of the building, but for the life
of him he could not remember. Then suddenly the truth dawned upon him.
He was lost――lost in a strange, flame-swept building. He had heard of
firemen being in similar circumstances, and he recalled with horror
the fate of some of them. More than one had perished in this way. Such
thoughts were far from encouraging. What should he do? Which way should
he turn? The smoke was terrible――almost unbearable now. He knew that if
he did not find the doorway soon he would be overcome with the fumes
and gases and then he knew that he would perish.
The flames were drawing closer, too. Weird lights flashed through the
swirling smoke. It suddenly seemed to Jeff that he was surrounded by
fire. And he knew that he could not stay in the building much longer
and not be overcome. Blindly he started in another direction, hoping
again to find the stairs, or the doorway, or perchance a window through
which he could get one single breath of fresh air. On he plunged until
suddenly he brought up with a bump against a jutting corner in the
wall. This did not help him to locate himself. Indeed it confused him
more. Here were two passages, one straight in front of him, the other
leading off to his right. Which way?
He started on again straight ahead, then suddenly above the roar of the
fast approaching flames he heard one terror-stricken howl, followed by
a series of whines. Spike again, and he was close at hand. This seemed
to steady Jeff’s nerves. He stopped, listened, then called:
“Here, Spike―― Where are you―― Good old Spike. Come here.”
Again he heard the whine almost at his feet, and reaching down he
groped about in the smoke.
His hand came in contact with the animal, huddled beside a bookcase
Jeff had not noticed before. Jeff sensed something strange about the
animal and immediately began feeling for his collar. Hooking his
fingers into it, he drew Spike out of his hiding place and lifted him
into his arms, dropping his suit case with its contents of precious
baseball paraphernalia which until now he had not realized he had
been carrying through all his peril. In the smoke he made a hasty
examination of the dog. He was injured. Something had fallen on him,
perhaps as a result of the explosion. One side was badly cut and
bruised and his two front legs hung limp and helpless.
“Crackey, Spike, you sure got it rough, didn’t you?” said Jeff
soothingly. “How did it happen that the fellows went off and left you.
Or did you get lost and――and――say, you _are_ crippled, aren’t you? You
can’t get out of here alive alone, that’s sure. I don’t know whether
I’m going to get out myself. But we’ll try, old fellow, we’ll try.”
He snuggled the dog close to his chest and then, still protecting his
eyes and nose with his crooked arm, he staggered on down the passageway
again, hoping that somehow, by the merest chance, the merest good luck,
he would find an exit, or perhaps come in contact with some of the
firemen who must be fighting the flames inside the building. He knew
that he must find relief soon or――
He tripped. Something smooth and round was under his feet. It was a
line of hose! Instantly stories he had read and heard told of how
firemen had saved themselves under similar circumstances came to his
mind. The hose line led somewhere. It was a guide to the way out of
the building. Many a fireman, by following a hose line, had found open
air, and relief from smoke punishment. They usually followed it on
their knees with their faces close to the cold, pulsating rubber, for
the water throbbing through the line generated a layer of cold, sweet,
fresh air about the hose which could be breathed.
Jeff dropped to his knees and holding his nose on one side of the hose
and Spike’s on the other he struggled forward, following the line. On
he crawled. His knees and elbows were soon skinned and filled with
splinters. But he knew that if he kept on he would sooner or later
find a way out. It was hard going and even with his nose to the hose
line he could not get enough clear air to overcome the gases he had
swallowed. He was growing weaker. He only hoped that he had strength
enough to keep up a little longer. He exerted every ounce of will
power he possessed and fought stubbornly. Then suddenly, to make
the situation more horrible than ever, the hose line began to move.
Some one was pulling away from him his only guide to safety. Jeff in
desperation clutched at the smooth black rubber tube madly! Slowly it
drew away from him! In desperation he half struggled to his feet and
shouted frantically! And the next instant he beheld four vague shapes
looming out of the smoke and coming toward him. They were firemen. They
had come to his rescue.
The firemen half led and half carried Jeff, semi-conscious and still
clutching Spike, to the open air and safety. A great shout went up
from the crowd outside when they saw them appear in the doorway of the
building and make their way through swirling smoke clouds to the campus.
Eager hands seized Jeff and carried him out of the danger zone; then
with a crowd of Custer and Pennington boys gathered around, Jeff was
laid on the grass, and one of the school physicians began to work over
him.
“I’m――all――right―― Don’t fuss――over――,” said Jeff, after a moment.
“Just――give――me――a――drink――of――water.”
The drink was provided and so were restoratives, but the clear, fresh,
invigorating air was the best restorative of all, and soon Jeff was
able to sit up and grin sheepishly.
At the sight of his smile Wade Grenville set up a wild shout which
developed into a cheer that echoed across the whole campus.
“Where’s Spike?” asked Jeff, when the shouts had subsided.
Roy Milliken crowded forward then and shook Jeff’s hand. “Thanks, old
fellow,” he said huskily to Jeff. “Spike and I got separated on our way
out and I guess he must have thought I was lost and went back to find
me. Poor beast got smashed up. A couple of the fellows took him over to
the basement of the gym. and made him comfortable. Thanks again, old
man; it was a mighty gritty thing to do.”
“Shucks, don’t mention it. I’m going over to the gym. myself and have a
plunge.”
“Right-o, go ahead. It will make you feel a heap better. And I’ll get
trainer Al Meyers to give you a good alcohol rubdown afterward. Then
you’ll be fit to play baseball this afternoon; that is, if there is to
be a game.”