"Whenever you please."
They were turning away side-by-side when a fitful gust of wind swept up to them from the direction of the sinking flames. There is only one thing more malodorous than a tannery, and that is a burning tannery. Miss Ocky choked.
"Pwhew!" she gasped. "It smells like—like—"
"Like the soul of Simon Varr," supplied Sherwood promptly.
VIII: Two Victims of Theft
Varr remained at the tannery until the last dying ember had been extinguished. Not till then did Marshal August Wimpelheimer come gayly up to him, his regalia a trifle the worse for wear and his breath coming a little short from his exertions but his expression that of one who has been hugely enjoying himself. He saluted with a flourish.
"All over, Mr. Varr! I told you we'd handle it. I'm sorry we couldn't save those first two buildings, but they had too much of a start. Full of that inflammable stuff and with a breeze like this blowing sparks as big as my helmet"—the article of attire referred to was nearly as large as himself—"We were lucky to get control—"
"Have you seen anything of Fay about?"
"Your watchman? Yes, sir, he was in the thick of everything! I'd like to add him to my Department. But the boys all did splendidly—smoke-eaters, Mr. Varr, every mother's son of 'em! I hope you noticed, sir, that when it came to volunteers for the bucket-gang a lot of your workmen stepped up. They forgot about the strike and pitched in with both hands! It shows there's a heap of good in human nature."