“Mr. Fogg, I say, Mr. Fogg!” he cried, running after the fireman and catching at his sleeve, “How—why––”
“Boy,” choked out Lemuel Fogg, turning a pale, twitching face upon Ralph, “don’t say a word to me!”
And then with a queer, clicking sob in his throat, the fireman of No. 999 hastened down the alley looking for his cap.
CHAPTER VII
DAVE BISSELL, TRAIN BOY
“I don’t understand it at all,” exclaimed Ralph.
“Mad—decidedly mad,” declared young Clark. “Whew! that was a lively tussle. All the buttons are gone off my vest and one sleeve is torn open clear to the shoulder, and I guess there were only basting threads in that coat of yours, for it’s ripped clear up the back.”
Clark began to pick up some scattered buttons from the ground. His companion, however, was looking down the alley, and he followed Fogg with his eyes until the fireman had disappeared into the street.