Presently Allan said, “I guess I’ll snap it now, Owen!” and he pressed the trigger.
“That’ll be great!” McConnell exclaimed.
“Did you draw the slide?” Owen asked.
Allan looked stupid. “No,” he confessed, “I didn’t.” Then he opened the box, drew the slide that hid a plate, set his shutter again, Owen stooped forward to see that the front opening was uncovered, and Allan pressed the trigger once more.
“This time I guess we caught it!” Allan said.
“‘Wait a moment!’ cried McConnell.”
Owen now advised that they rest the camera on a large stone for making the “time exposure,” and he assisted Allan in setting the shutter so that the exposure could be made by opening and closing the sliding front of the box. Each moment the building became more brilliantly lighted. The flames had stolen across the end of the wing from east to west, and when Allan opened the little door for two seconds—McConnell quickly counted five in the same space of time—the main floor was more than half swept by the fire.
The efforts of the firemen to keep the fire in the wing seemed likely to succeed, though they could not have succeeded had there been any wind, particularly had there been a wind from the south. It was exciting to watch the battle between fire and water—the fire leaping blindly hither and thither like a wild beast; the water guided by skilful men who stood at their posts with hats pulled low to keep the blistering heat out of their faces.
While the boys were preparing for a third shot, the flames came streaming through a hole in the roof near the cornice, and fluttered like a great yellow banner thirty or forty feet long.