Both nearly upset in the collision. At first Bart fancied it might be one of the burglars, but peering closer he recognized the friendly roustabout.
"Told you so!" gasped the latter in a desperate fluster. "Fire—I'll help you."
"Yes, quick! run," breathed Bart, rushing ahead, "My father's in that burning building!"
Bart was thrilled. The main room of the express shed was one bright blur of brilliancy and colored smoke.
It rolled and whirled, obliterating all outlines within the room.
"Father! father!" shouted Bart, dashing recklessly in at the open doorway.
He could not make out a single object in that chaos, but he knew the location of every familiar article in the place, and made for the chair in which his father usually sat.
"Father!" he screamed, as his hands touched the arms of the chair and found it empty.
The sulphurous flames nearly choked him, the heat from the crackling wooden partition singed his hair, but he could only grope about blindly.
"Here he is," sounded a suffocating voice.