\
Pa., October 1, 1915.
Bellefonte,
sens
TEN LITTLE DUTIES.
Ten little duties! Does no good to whine;
Skip about and do one, then there are nine!
Nine little duties; it never pays to wait;
Do one quick, and—presto!—there are only
eight.
Eight little duties; might have been eleven;
One done in no time, leaving only seven.
Seven little duties; ’tisn’t such a fix;
Do one more, and—bless me!—there are only
six.
Six little duties, sure as I'm alive!
Never mind, one’s over; now there are but five.
Five little duties knocking at your door!
Lead one off to Doneland, that leaves only four.
Four little duties, plain as plain can be!
Can’t be shirked—one’s over—leaving only
three.
Three little duties; like a soldier true
Meet them and vanquish one; then there'll be
but two.
Two little duties between you and fun;
In just a minute longer there’ll be only one!
One little duty; now what will you do?
Do it! why, surely; now you are through!
—Selected,
JOHN FLINT, DEPUTY-CHIEF.
The new fire commissioner, lounging
in swivel chair, concluded his remarks
to the deputy-chief with a wave of his
hand and a shrug of his shoulders. ’
“You know, Flint,” he said, “there is
such a thing as being too careful. Keep-
ing up a record of never losing a man
and not obeying your superior officer don’t
go together, always, remember that.”
John Flint; who was on his way out of
the office, turned abruptly.
“The floor fell, sir, didn’t it?”
“You told Chief Ronan you had order-
ed your men off that floor.” The com-
missioner had swung around to his desk
and was speaking over his shoulder. “He
told you to put them back again; you
didn’t and the fire jumped to the next
building—and that’s the answer.”
The commissioner watched Flint as he
flushed and walked silently to the door.
“That’s the answer,” added the com-
missioner as a parting shot. “And next
time you’ll be up on charges.”
As the door closed the commissioner
glanced at the chief, who had been stand-
ing rigidly in the middle of the room.
“Was that right?”
“It'll do,” was the short reply. “Next
time, though, I'll press the charge. John
Flint nor nobody else will make a mon-
key of me.”
The commissioner regarded him with
keen, humorous eyes. He was “green”
and he was young, but he knew neither
fear nor Tammany, which are one and
the same thing—sometimes.
“You're right Ronan, nobody’s going to
make a monkey-of you if I can help it.
. . . Ican’t save you from yourself,
though. If Flint had carried out your or-
ders you’d'a’had two lost companies—
thirty-two dead men—to answer for.
That's carrying professional jealousy too
far, chief.”
“He had the floor overweighted with
water,’ blazed the chief.
“You don’t prove that and Flint’s men”
-—the commissioner tossed his hands and
picked up a letter. “Now chop it all
out. The incident’s closed. Flint’s a
great fireman and you're a great chief.
The city should be proud of you both.
Let it go at that. There's plenty of room
for both of you in the department. But
there won't be if this keeps up, believe
me.” The commissioner turned to the
letter and Chief Ronan walked to his
own office, muttering that there was not
sufficient space for both of them as it
stood, and that he had his own idea as to
the one who would have to make room.
John Flint sat for a minute as his gig
drew up in front of his home on East
Fifteenth Street. Then climbing down to
the sidewalk he turned to his driver with
a soft look in his steel.gray eyes.
“Hit the gong, Tom,” he said.
Before the clanging had ceased to
sound, the front door opened and a little
boy dashed down the steps and made a
flying leap into his father’s arms, who,
without breaking the motion, lifted him
deftly up to his shoulder.
“Ho!” cried the boy, kicking his heels
delightedly, “that was the time, daddy.
Wasn't it a fine jump?”
“I should say so,” laughed the father.
“Some day, Jackie, if you keep growing
like you have, you'll jump clean over my
head.”
He looked up at his wife, who stood
framed in the light of the doorway, smil-
ing down at them.
“Come, John,” she said, “you give me
little enough of your company without
wasting it all there on the sidewalk.”
Flint chuckled, waved to his driver,
and then ran up the steps.
Nights when his big, wonderful father
dined at home were banner nights for
Jackie. For then his mother permitted
him to skip his bedtime hour and remain
at the table until dinner was finished and
his father was free to put him to bed.
And all this was a great event in the life
of that little five-year-old and a great,
golden event for John Flint, ordinarily.
But tonight he was not himself, altogeth-
er. Jackie, of course didn’t notice it, but
the mother did and her eyes filled with
concern. She had a sweet, youthful face;
a » 1kiuy tace, beautiful, if only because
or 1t s spirituality; physically she was not
suong
»paa,” saa the boy, “I dreamt last
night you was caught in a black place—
o-oh awful black and dark and—and—
then I woke before you got out.”
Flint laughed abstractedly and reach-
ing over tousled his son’s head. But the
face of his wife toward the two was
marked by a strange dread.
“You mustn’t dream such things, Jack-
ie,” she said sharply.
“No, Towser,” said the father, “a boy
like you should dream of faries and Santa
Claus and things.”
Something 'in their tones made the
child feel something and he looked at
them with blinking eyes for a moment
until his mind ran to other thoughts.
The ticker in the hall sounded an
alarm and the wife’s lips moved, as was
her wont in an invocation of safety for
those responding to the summons.
Flint moved impatiently.
“I'm glad the commissioner has order-
ed those things taken out of the houses!”
. His wife looked at him for a moment
in surprise.
“What's the matter, John,” she asked
in a low, quick voice.
“Why that jigger has bothered you—
and other women—"
“I didn’t mean that,” she interrupted.
“Your mood
She stopped with a questioning look.
“Ronan had me before the commission-
er,” he said responsively. “The com-
missioner was too straight and too wise
to take up charges, but the chief is down
on Fourteenth Street with Scanlon,
now.”
His wife did not speak for a moment.
At length,
“I wish you were out of the depart-
ment, John. You've served twenty years;
they’d let you retire—and you have that
fine offer from the hose supply company.
Please, John. I said I wouldn't mention
it again, but please!”
Flint’s eyes became steel and his jaws
briged. Then his face softened and aris-
ing he walked to her chair and caressed
her hair.
“It’s not because of Ronan, dear, you
know that,” she added.
“I know, but you mustn’t be silly, girl.
I can’t retire now, with things this way.
I’ve tried to be white with Ronan, but
what's the use. I won’t any more. I'm
going to fix him now—and I think I know
how todo it.” He looked at his watch.
“l must be out awhile to-night—at my
quarters.” He turned to the boy.
“You won’t mind old man, if I put you
to bed to-morrow night instead! I've got
a lot to do.”
The child tried to be brave and suc-
ceeded, but his lip quigered. The moth-
er jumped up with quick concern.
“Not tonight, Jonn. Oh, don’t leave it
for tomorrow. Just fifteen minutes,
something makes me af—" she compress-
ed her lips. “It will only delay you fif-
teen minutes. He’s been talking about
it all day.”
Flint glanced at his watch again and
laughed in the hearty way she loved.
“All right, Towser,” he said, ‘you and
I are booked for a dandy scrap.” And
they had it while delighted squeals from
a very small boy and great, deep chuck-
les from a very big man filled the house.
“Now ain’t you nearly broked in
two?” queried the boy at length, sitting
astride his father’s chest. “You should
say so?” he suggested as Flint lifted him
to the bed.
“Yes, I should say so, you little giant-
killer. Now then off you go to
sleep if you want to grow up to be a big
man.”
And so the boy went to sleep while the
father sat for awhile looking out over the
street where the gloom of twilight was
beginning to settle.
As he kissed his wife at the door she
looked up at him.
“Aren’t you glad you waited?
back soon to me, John.”
“Yes. Good-by.”
She turned on the sill.
“John 1 ”»
“Yes?” .
“Good-night, John.”
“Good-night.”
She closed the door lingeringly.
The evening life of a hot, humid street
on the lower East Side was beginning
when Flint arrived at the truck house
where he made his head-quarters. From
the windows of the tenements overhead
and from the fire-escapes came an inter-
mittent murmur of voices, pierced some-
times by the sharp cry of a sick baby or
the harsh admonition of a mother to her
children; the clatter of crockery falling
and breaking on iron escape landings.
A hurdy-gurdy was rattling away in
front of the tawdry notion store next the
station, and half-clad youngsters, hand
in hand, were skipping, pirouetting, sway-
ing in rythmic abandon. There were
women, babes in arms, seated in chairs
and boxes on the sidewalk. The dull
roar of the elevated railroad came from
Allen Street a block eastward and the
gong of an ambulance out on a heat case
clattered insistently and then died away.
Above the street the walls of the houses
were amorphous shapes, punctuated by
faint blurs of light and thin, watery stars
hung vaguely in a characterless sky.
Everything seemed adrip: in the heavy
atmosphere amyriad odors were merged,
the reek of the street, which neither lift-
ed nor disintegrated. The deputy-chief
replied absently to the salute of the man
at the desk and glanced with a faint
smile at a young probationer, who sat on
the running-board of the truck, drinking
from a cold, moisture-beaded bottle of
milk. The deputy had one of those won-
derful faces in which strength, kindli-
ness and sweetness are perfectly joined.
None of his division feared John Flint,
but all respected him as strong men only
can respect a stronger man. The com-
pany captain joined him as the horse was
taken from the gig, and the two moved
to the open doors, conversing. A wom-
an who had been waiting there advanc-
ed diffidently, holding her small son by
the hand.
“Thought I'd come outand tell you that
the boy is all well, Chief, thanks to you
and the milk you been sendin’ around
and the doctor—"
Flint’s big, genial voice interrupted.
“Now, now Mrs. Maguire, that’s all
right. So here he is, eh?” rubbing his
hand over the child’s head. ‘‘Sure, sure
he’s all right now; such a little husky
couldn’t be under the weather long, could
he, Billy?” And how proud that boy was
as his mother led him away!
Old Giulio, the ice-cream man, who
smiled on all children whether they
bought or not, came up pushing his cart
before him and the captain called the
probationer, gave him fifty cents and
told him to round up the dancers and
the other children and buy them hokey-
pokeys until the money ran out. Then
he and the chief stood for awhile chuck-
ling deeply as they saw the urchins scram-
bling and scuffling about the lovable old
Italian and the tall young fireman who
was beginning to learn what it meant to
eat smoke.
For half an hour thereafter Flint sat in
his office, the door closed, his eyes fixed
vacantly out of the window. Finally, he
leaned over the desk and drew the tele:
phone to him, calling the number of a
great newspaper on Park Row.
“You remember sending a man to me
last month on that Prince Company hose
contract,” he said to the city editor.
“Flint—yes. If you send your man Ar-
nold around here about ten o'clock I
think I can give him some information.
Good-by.” \
He took from his desk a sealed envel-
ope, opened it, and carefully perused a
report, which one of the heads of the
clerical department had secretly compil-
ed and forwarded to him.
It involved one of those official discrep-
ancies that sound worse than they really
are—something which a slight deviation
from correct analysis would permit the
formulation of charges sufficiently seri-
ous, to annoy Ronan and make him
squirm but not calculated to hold water
on trial. As Flint read them over he rec.
ognized this and he sat back with eyes
closed, cas about for the best meth-
od of giving the facts as revealed their
Come
Ri m——————— GI
forward and cast the papers into a draw-
er with a gesture of contempt.
“A new sort of business you're in,” he
muttered. “You ought to be proud of
yourself!” For a few seconds he sat si-
lent then started in his chair. “You'll
not play with cards under the table, any-
way,” he said, seizing the telephone. He
had started to call the chief’s office ‘when
a fireman entered with word that young
Talbot, a settlement worker of the dis-
French noblemen.
An alarm outside the district had
come in as the visitors entered and they
were just in time to see the three big
horses dash to their places and the fire-
men to drop one after another down the
sliding poles, standing grouped about the
heads of the animals in accordance with
the regulation that ‘“‘second-out” compa-
nies shall remain in readiness for a pos-
sible second alarm. Flint had just flash-
ed down the pole and was shaking hands
with the settlement worker when the in-
dicator sounded a few sharp strokes.
Figures darted here and there; there was
a pounding of hoofs, a glitter of metal
and woodwork, a hurried apology from
Flint, and Talbot and his guests were,
with the exception of the keeper, alone
in the house.
dashed across the Bowery, a lurid flare
lightened the heavy smoke, which was
pouring over the thoroughfare from a
big six-story building a block to the west-
ward. The deputy’s jaws set tight.
“It’s the Dungan Paper Warehouse,”
he said to thedriver. “The boys—"
The sharp clanging of a bell caused
him to turn just in time to see a low red
motor-car turning sharply in from the
main thoroughfare and driving straight
for the rear wheels of the gig. The offi-
cer at the steering wheel lurched heavi-
ly sidewise, pulling the wheel sharply to
avoid the impending accident, at the
same time shutting off the power, which
was. wise, for the steering gear went
awry and the car lumbered up to the
curb and stopped with its radiator crumb-
ling against a brick wall.
Flint, who more than once had been
Chief Ronan’s automobile, could not sti-
fle a derisive laugh as he witnessed the
accident, and in another half minute he
was alighting from his vehicle in front
of the burning warehouse.
“Where's your chief? he asked of a
battalion chief’s driver. :
“He went up the stairs with the first
company,” was the reply. “I'll get him.”
As he spoke that officer came out the
breath. !
“It’s on the fourth floor, Chief,” he
said, “and going like hell. I've got the
first company with a line on the stairs
leading to the floor and the third compa-
ny, too. The second’s up there on the
fire-escape.”
“All right,” replied Flint, and he was
turning to order the second-alarm com-
panies to strétch in from the water tow-
er and the others to go round to the rear
when Chief Ronan ran up, his white hat
in his hand.
“I'll look after this,” he said. He glar-
ed at his deputy. “Why didn’t you send
in a third alarm?”
“We don’t need it yet,” growled Flint,
touched on his professional pride.
“Yet! The hell we don’t. What do
you know about it? Have you been in
the building? Not you,” sneeringly.
“Here, Howard, ring in the third and
hurry. Thisis no fire to fool with—al-
though some seem to think so.”
Without waiting for further words
from his chief, Flint dashed into the
warehouse. The pungent smell of dry
paper was all about and little wisps of
smoke were swirling through the offices.
On the second floor the smoke rendered
everything viewless. Flint reached out
his foot and was guided to the stairway
by the lines of hose. On the third floor
landing the glow of his acetylene lantern
fell on the ghostly forms of the relief
lines and three firemen who had just
come back from the nozzles above sat on
the stairs fanning themselves with their
hats and sucking air from water-soaked
sponges which they carried suspended
from strings from their suspender buckles.
Picking up a lieutenant Flint went on
up the stairs to a point where the men
at the pipes lay, their faces pressed close
to the nozzles, drinking what air the
water brought. He could not see the
pipemen. He could not see the lieutenant
standing at his elbow. It was a bad
smoke, full of carbon and a dose even for
Flint’s practiced lungs. There was a
movement at his feet and the body of a
probationer, deserting his comrades at
one of the pipes, lurched againt him. He
was coughing and gagging and sobbing.
Flint caught him, preventing him from
pitching down stairs, and pushed him to
the lieutenant. :
“Take him, Pete,” he said. “Get him
out of this. He's gone. Send one of the
relief line up.” :
As the officer, stumbling and grunting,
dragged the half unconscious fireman
down the stairs,Flint turned to the others.
“It’s all right, boys,” he said, and pick-
ing his way over the recumbent men he
started up ahead of the nozzles.
He could catch the impression of
movement below as the big two-inch
streams tore through the murk, and
above a hectic flush rose and fell with
pulsating fury. All about was a fierce
sound, a sort of reverberating growl, the
sweep of a tempest, against which rose
the crash of caving timbers, the swift
rattling and crackling of the flames and
the sharp hissing of water. Flint’s breath
suddenly stopped and he could not re-
gain it. Strangling, he threw himself on
his stomach, gasping for air which al-
ways runs along the bottom of the smoke
and got it. One of the streams soused
him and it felt cool and good. As he
worked his way slowly down to his. men
a long tongue of flame appeared out of
the lurid flush above and shot over the
prone figures at the hose. Two solid
streams sought its source, but it came
once more, lazily, this time licking at the
helmets of the firemen and searing their
cheeks. Flint’s voice rose huskily.
“Come on out of this, boys,” he yelled.
“Take your lines down to the next floor.”
Grumbling, but knowing they were
beaten, the men wriggled down the stairs
and rallied on the third floor landing with
the desperation of strong and brave men
facing defeat by an element which they
had been taught to hate. Flint found a
battalion chief here. He had come from
the ladders in through the third story
rear window at the head of two engine
companies with hose and a truck com-
pany with axes.
' “Look here, Chief,” he said, grasping
Flint by the arm and leading him down
the hall and into a small storercom with
plastered walls. Here he bent down and
nted with his lantern to the floor.
int crouched for an instant and ran his
worst complexion. Suddenly he leaned
trict, was down-stairs with a party of
beaten to a fire in his own district by
door, his eyes streaming and panting for |
As Flint’s gig, with its flattering gong, |
hand along the surbase; it was almost called the rolls. Four times the quick, lay across his stomach. His hands were
red-hot. Like a surgeon engaged in
diagnosis he straightened up carrying his ;
fingers with light touch up the wall.’
Suddenly his hand paused and hitting
the plaster a resounding smack he turn-
ed to the shadowy figure of a great raw- |
boned axeman who stood at his elbow.
“Punch a hole in there,” he said.
A crunching blow followed and then
another.
hind, as though sentient with desire to
locate and ignite some gas-laden ball of
smoke, setting free the death-dealing
back draft. Then came another tongue,
which licked up to the ceiling and then
withdrew like the flashing tongue of a;
snake.
Again the big truckman’s axe smote
the wall and the hose men dragging in
a line thrust the pipe into the hole, hold-
ing it in place on a Bonner partition
tripod.
Stumbling along to the west side of the
building, Flint found that Deputy-Chief
Ryan had discovered similar conditions.
He went down the stairs shaking his
head. As he came out to the sidewalk,
filling his lungs with pure air, he saw
Ronan in the middle of the street, by the :
water tower, watching the men on the
fire-escapes who, as in the case of those
on the inside of the building, had been
driven downward. There were groups
of them crouching against the third-floor
wall, their helmets reversed, their heads
bent low. The long, ghostly arm from
the search-light engine occasionally ceas-
ed its wanderings over the face of the
burning building and rested upon them.
On the sidewalk white-coated young
ambulance surgeons were working over
the prostrate figures of firemen who had
eaten more smoke than they could
digest. Reporters were everwhere, tak-
ing matters in a business-like manner,but
plainly interested in potentialities. The
number of firemen overcome had already | calling over his shoulder that he would
made their stories worth half a column
more than might otherwise have been
the case and they were hungry for furth- | leaving the men standing, wondering, un- |
' er developments.
Ronan was intolerant, irascible, a man
with every combative instinct aroused,
from the moment he tackled a big fire
until it was under control Flint was al-
ways more approachable.
“How is it going, Chief?” asked one of
the reporters of him as the deputy made
his way toward Ronan.
“It’s a fire, son,” smiled Flint.
Ronan’s quick eye caught the passing
dialogue, and as his deputy came up they
sparkled with a venomous light.
“Did you give him your picture for the
paper?” he said.
Flint did not give the chief even the
satisfaction of an expression.
“The fire’s backed the men down to
the third floor,” he said. “And —well you
know the building.”
The chief did know it.
a deputy in this district he had gone
through the warehouse and made the
prediction that if it ever caught fire
and got going good it would mean
the death of a company or
two, and a battalion chief at the least.
But the last thing in his mind was to ad-
mit that to his assistant.
- Overhead there came a soft, seething
noise and a flare of light. A low-drawn
exclamation arose from the throngs held
in leash by the police reserves at inter- | is generally the nerves that go when a |
secting corners. Ronan glanced upward | man succumbs and not: primarily the |
at the great gouts of flame pouring up
through the roof of the building and
Out of the hole along, blood-
red quivering tongue of flame appeared
and puffed off into the smoky limbo be- !
When he was
staccato calling of a name met with no
response, and like a clammy wind word
went round that men were still in the
building. One of them was Flint.
Before Ronan’s mouth had opened to
hurl forth the rescue orders a dozen men,
: headed by two captains, were piling
through the doorway. As they fought
their way up to the second floor the stairs
seemed to heave and the very building
was quivering and sighing like a living
thing. In the rear hallway a fireman,
gasping and feeling his way with his
boot, stumbled over the leg of a pros-
trate comrade. In a flash he bent, thrust
one hand under the unconscious man’s
neck, the other under his shoulders, and
dragged him like a sack of meal to the
stairs. Two or three of the party, hur-
rying to the spot whence the truckman’s |
cries that he had found a man came, ran
into the deputy-chicf, walking half
crouched, an insensible fireman across
his shoulders.
“Here, take him,” he said, lifting the
man from his back like a child and push-
ing him toward the group whose voices
alone told him of their near proximity. |
“Two we've got; take ’em down and re-
port to the chief. How many more?”
“One more, but he can’t be got,” cried
an officer. “The floor’s rocking now.”
But there was no reply. The next in-
stant the chief's voice bellowed up:
“Every one out on the sidewalk. Flint,
bring your men down! Burke’s notin
there! Went to the hospital. We've
got em all. Hurry!”
' As the men reached the sidewalk Ro-
i nan met them.
i “All here?” he cried; “where’s Flint?”
i Impulsive always and from his first
day as a fireman prone to do that which
, no other fireman had ever done, the chief
ripped. out an oath. as the reply came
that they thought the deputy was with
‘ them and that he had been on the sec-
ond floor. Bounding for the stairs and
{ break the man who followed him, he
‘ jumped into the smoke and disappeared,
decided what to do.
Flint’s quest for the man he supposed
to be lying somewhere on that floor led
him through a succession of rooms, lead-
ing to the rear of the building. In each
he had circled and recircled, kicking
right and left, in hope of locating the
missing man, but, of course, without suc-
cess. As he proceeded he knew that the
way whence he had come was being
closed by intervening sheets of flame,
but in figuring out his course he had no
thought of leaving the warehouse over '
the entering route. His only chance, he
knew, lay in fighting clean through the
building and going down the ladders or
the fire escapes, or, if the necessity arose,
even dropping the twenty odd feet to the
ground.
As in the case of every building in his
district, Flint knew it like a book, and
. this knowledge and his sense of direc-
| tion made acute in many such emergen-
cies as this combined to carry him along,
i until the smoke began to get into his
! brain, and the heat to clog his senses.
| Many times as a private he had fought
| fire two or more hours in smoke which
rendered his side partner invisible, as
| many other big-lunged firemen have, but
i to-night his nerves were not good and
experienced firemen will tell you that it
' heart and lungs.
| So this stalwart veteran of constant
free, though, and they plucked feebly at
| the big, charred beam. Slowly he reach-
i ed upward, the fingers striking against
| something soft. Then he let his arm fall
i heavily, splashing in the water, every
, sense awakened under the shock of real-
| ization. The paper bales had arched
above him. He was buried alive.
He lay still for a few minutes and list.
ened to the inrush of jets of water. The
i sound brought fear to him. Water was
i laving his ears; a few miuutes before, as
he lay with the back of his head in the
water, it had not come up to his ears.
i Evidently the outline had closed. With
frenzied desperation he kicked out side
wise and his boot struck against some-
thing which seeemed to give. Again he
kicked and forced an opening through
which the rising water found vent and
i flowed out guggling. Flint’s head fell
| back upon the black ooze and he gave
thanks to his God. Then his arm reach-
ed out again and fell upon a metal im-
plement, a hose spanner. His fingers
closed upon it. Thus he lay for awhile.
It was the night of the next day. The
; wife, with a face of death, but lighted by
a brave smile and a little boy, were stand-
! ing on the street in front of a smoulder-
| ing, blackened shell, through the gaping
: holes of which the search-light rays were
‘ plaving, and forms of men in rubber
i coats and battered blue fatigue caps, and
| wreckers from the building department,
. were working feverishly with pick and
: shovel and ba". Chief Ronan came up
| in his motor, and with a grave face ap-
| proached the pitiful little group.
; “Nothing yet?” he said in his gruff
voice.
The woman shook her head.
“You ought to go home,” said the chief.
“This ain’t any place for you two. We
i can—Ilet you know.”
| “But why don’t you get him?” said the
woman in a low, monotonous voice, with
eyes that looked at Ronan, but seemed not
to see him.
“We're tryin’ to,” said Ronan.
“But you must hurry,” she said. “For
! he’s alive. Oh, I know it! John Flint is
: living.”
Ronan looked at her curiously, a great
lump in his throat, which, never having
, felt before, he could not understand.
| “Why don’t you get him. He is alive,”
she repeated. “Why I have heard his
i voice all the time.” She closed her eyes.
i “I hear it now.”
“She's been saying that since last
' night,” whispered a fireman who had just
, ceased work with a shift of men.
Ronan put his hand on the woman’s
shoulder.
“We'll get him if he’s alive—or if he's
—he stopped abruptly, “we’ll get him.”
“Then why don’t you,” replied the
woman, and she sat on the curb and took
her drowsy boy in her arms.
And on worked the men as only men
can work who are seeking the body of a
loved leader. One group was lifting char: .
red beams and carrying them carefully
to one side. Others were burrowing down
among the litter, crawling through slimy
black lanes and caverns which the mov-
ing of sections of debris opened.
Ronan entered the building and stood
| grimly watching the men. A reporter
{ joined him.
“Is there any chance he’s alive?” asked
the newspaper man.
“Alive!” Ronan looked at the man.
“Alive! And you've been covering fires
fifteen years, Max? Why——"
A voice wild with excitement inter-
i
then looked impatiently down the street | fire-fighting suddenly brought himself up | rupted him, the voice of Flint’s driver.
whence came the throaty whistles and
jangling bells of the fourth and fifth
alarm companies
“They’ve kicked it up through the
roof.” Ronan glanced triumphantly at
Flint.
“The fire’s going down through the
partitions and is under the third floor small dull square patch revealed the lo- |
! cation of a ventilator window. The door |
now,” said Flint simply. “I told Ryan to
get the men down to the second floor and
hold ready to leave the building Is that
all right! You—-1!"
“Is that all right!” The chief glared
at Flint. He took off his hat as though
to dash it to the ground, the veins in his
neck swelling. “You've ordered—them—
down another—floor—and is it all right!
You—?"
He paused as three firemen lurched out
the door and fell unconscious on the side-
walk. A truck company standing group-
ed at the curb, leaning on the hooks,
looked curiously at the ambulance sur-
geons as they rolled their comrades over
on their backs and applied restoratives
and then at the chief who ran past them
to meet the newly arrived companies just
stretching in.
“Go on in thereif you've got any chests
on you,” he yelled. “Go to it—and cut
the heart out of that fire. What are you
doing to-night, anyway! Why, damn it,
I'll lick this fire or—or——" he paused as
a captain, a box-built man with grizzled
mustache, dripping with water, hurried
out of the building to their side; “well,”
he said, “what do you want?”
“Third floor’s in bad shape, sir; looks
like its going to come through. All the
companies have been backed down to the
second floor. Chief Ryan says shall he
order out?”
Ronan turned his face slowly toward
Flint, but the deputy had not been listen-
ing. His eyes were directed to the third
floor where a great cloud of flame was
bellying out of a window, ing like a
balloon at its fastenings. Instinctively
Flint turned to the opposite building, a
tenement, the doors and windows open.
He could see the beds, pictures on the
walls, and tables with their red checkered
cloths set with half-finished meals. There
was a lurd flash over their heads and
when Flint looked at that tenement again
all the signs of habitation had disappear-
ed, the windows revealing naught but
blackened walls, flaming shreds of cur-
tains, and crumbling furnishings.
company or two were piling in, but there
was little for them to do. The wave of
heat had not kindled fire; it had in-
cinerated.
Ronan came out of the tenement and
Flint met him with flushed face.
“How much longer are you going to
leave the boys in that warehouse, Chief
Ronan?” he asked.
“What's that to you?” sneered Ronan.
“You ain’t in there, are you? Not you!”
he added. Then suddenly out of the
clogging welter of jealousy and hate and
spite his professional judgment emerged
clear. “Hey, Flint,” and his words came
like bullets, “Get every man out of this
building, quick.”
Like a shot the deputy went across the
sidewalk and into the doorway. Through
the viewless, choking floors, filled with
red spluttering embers, went the orders
that meant defeat: :
“Everybody to the sidewalk!”
Slowly the men staggered out, bearing
their burdens of heavy, water-filled hose,
assembling by companies and listening
with straining ears as the lieutenants
i with the realization that for the past few
{ minutes he had been wandering mechan-
| ically, without the stimulus or direction
{ of the mind. He found himself in a
i room, not large, with his hand on the
! knob of a door which had not opened as
! he turned it. Ten feet from the floor a
' was locked. :
i Instinctively he turned to retrace his
steps, but the doorway he had entered
! framed a red glow like the mouth of a;
furnace. He faced about, drew back his !
boot and kicked the door a mighty blow.
The panel cracked. As he swung his leg
backward there came an answering crack
from the other side and the next instant
the door crushed inward, torn from its
hinges, with the big form of Chief Ronan
sprawling across it. .
Quickly springing to his feet Ronan
seized his deputy by the arm.
“Come on out of this, John,” he said
grufly. “Remember your wife and kid-
die. Come on, every one’s out.”
Flint heard him vaguely. Memory of
the enmity which Ronan had held for
him in the past year and shown upon
all occasions filled his dulled brain with
smouldering emotion. He tore his arm
from Ronan’s grasp and looked at him
swaying.
“You—you, man-killer,” he said. “You
told the commander I was afraid of fire.
. . . Now damn you, see who'll leave
this building first, you or me.”
With an exclamation, not of anger,
Ronan sprang for his deputy to drag him
to the window not ten feet away. But
before he could fling his arm around his
neck the floor under their feet seemed to
shift sidewise and all about them was the
impression of a great wind rush, a hor-
rible pressing down of an irresistible but
impalpable force, which few firemen have
felt and lived to tell the experience. Hur-
rying along the swaying floor, pulling
Flint by the arm, Ronan had gained the
the window-sill, when there came the
shriek of inrushing air; followed a rend-
ing and crackling, a succession of deaf-
ening reverberations and Ronan dizzily
straddling the window-casing saw the
floors come through, screaming, grind-
ing, hissing, crunching—a fearful noise
and a fearful sight, like the fall of agreat
city into the bottomless pit.
Flint,who had pulled away from Ronan’s
grip, went down in the middle of the floor.
Paper bales which had been piled about
the room tumbled ever about him, pro-
tecting him from the impact of the over-
head beams and rafters, so that as he
went down and down, clear to the cellar,
he experienced in all their flashing real-
ity, the horrors of his descent and its
significance. Then came the impression
that he had landed lightly as a feather,
as a man falling from a tower, in a
dream. Then there was darkness and a
great silence. . . .
Flint moved uneasily. He heard the
voice of his boy, frightened by a dream
of the night. Yet there was an impres-
sion of a lapse of time. A pain shot down
his back. He moved uneasily and with
an instinctive movement brought his
hand to his face. Then came knowledge
that water was flowing upon it, water
that felt gritty. He opened his eyes;
there was nothing but blackness pierced
by a threadlike lance of light. He closed
his eyes for a second. He shivered. As
in a dream he tried to rise to a sitting
posture. But he could not, for a weight
“Stop all work; everybody!” The
| words rang thrillingly clear throughout"
the shell of building. Every figure
| straightened. Ronan hurried to the
driver’s side.
i “What’s up, Tom?” he said. His voice
{ was even, but his eyes were glistening.
“Listen!” The driver had flung himself
upon the blackened pile and Ronan did
likewise.
Then to their straining ears there came
with gentle distinctness a faint tapping,
like a fire-alarm
{an orderly tapping
jigger. .
“One”—counted Ronan with husky
voice. He waited. Then: “One—two—
three—four—five—six—seven—eight.”
“Eighteen,” screamed the driver.
“Eighteen truck! Our head-quarters!”
Ronan arose and there was a sweet dig-
nity in his voice that no one had ever
heard before.
“Boys,” he said, “John Flint—is—right
—down—there. Get him!”
As electricity travels, so the news that
John Flint, missing for nearly twenty-
four hours at the bottom, of that moun-
tain of twisted beams, shattered timbers,
‘and charred bales of paper, was still liv-
ing, spread throughout the district. Tel-
ephones buzzed in newspaper offices;
late evening extras heralded the dramat-
ic developement and the city editors of
the morning papers hurried out their
best men on the star assignment of the
day. The commissioner came and he took
the woman and the boy, sleeping now, in
his automobile and kept them there, his
hand resting heavily on her shoulder.
But of all these things the little groups
of men, working in tense silence under
the glare of the search-light engine and
acetylene lanterns, knew nothing. The
tapping had ceased and Tom, the driver,
still lying with his ear on the blackened
mound of debris, turned a strained face
to the chief and shook his head. But
they had located the spot and a long bar
of iron with a red lantern hanging there-
on marked it.
There was need of great care and that
prevented haste; the premature dislodg-
ment of a beam might well end every-
thing. With the deliberate touch of
watchmakers, the men rooted out twist-
ed lengths of iron-work and armfuls of
indeterminate substance. Something
gave under the feet of three building de-
partment laborers and they went down
up to their necks, landing upon some-
thing which seemed to spring under their
feet. The men above ceased their work
and looked expectantly at an inspector,
who, having ordered the men out of the
hole which had so suddenly opened un
der their feet, was on his knees, peering
into it, his lantern suspended at arm’s-
length.
There was hardly a breath during the
inspection. Men looked at the silent
black heaps all about, filled with the awe
of the thought that anything living real-
ly could be lying beneath it. Still the
inspector did not stir. To and fro mov-
ed his lantern, resting here a moment,
then there. At length, protruding from
beneath a blackened bale, he discerned
the uncharred end of a beam with a sec-
tion of floor planking attached. He rose
to his feet and pointed to it.
“Get a wall-hook and line,” he said in
a low voice.
A slim young building wrecker slid
down into the hole, jammed the hook
[Continued on page 3, Col. 3.]