“In there, I’m half afraid,” she half screamed. “Oh! the pore little chappie and his swate mother will be kilt entirely I do be afraid!”
“What’s that?” demanded a hoarse voice just then, and half turning his head, Leslie saw the deacon standing there, his face white, and drawn as with a spasm of pain.
Possibly Dick knew the old man was at his elbow but he had no time just then to bother with him. With little Billy in deadly peril, the affairs of Deacon Nocker played a very small part in the boy’s mind.
Something must be done, and that without loss of time. Undoubtedly, the widow must be asleep in the burning mansion, quite unaware of the danger surrounding her; and of course Billy shared her peril.
Dick whirled on his chum. Well did he know that Leslie would stand back of him in the rash undertaking that he was now bent on accepting; for he had seen this comrade tested on many a previous occasion, and in every instance Leslie had proven as true as steel.
“We must make the try, if you’re ready to go in with me!” he cried, pointing to where the front door of the building stood invitingly open, the work-woman having evidently escaped by that means when she found the house afire.
“You bet I’m going to make the try!” Leslie assured him.
“Wait till the firemen get here, boys!” urged one woman, who possibly had boys of her own at home, and shuddered at the thought of their dashing into the doomed house, even though it were to save human life.
“It might be too late then,” snapped Dick. “Come on, Leslie. Wet your handkerchief in this bucket, and cover your nose with it as much as you can, for the smoke will be something terrible.”
That was a most sensible suggestion which Dick made. Even if they did not come into contact with the leaping flames, the smoke was thick enough to smother them.