"The High School room," groaned Bettie. "It's—it's flames!"
"Hang it!" growled an indignant tax-payer. "Why doesn't somebody do something? That building cost fifty thousand dollars."
"Fire started from a defective flue on top floor," explained another bystander, "but that's no reason why the whole place should go. There's no fire downstairs, but there will be—What's that? No water? Broken hydrant?"
Mabel listened attentively. The bystander continued:
"Then the whole building is doomed. It's had time enough to get a tremendous start."
"Oh, look!" cried Jean. "It's bursting through into the next room—my room! Oh, how dreadful! All our plants, our books, our pictures—Oh, oh! I can't bear to look."
Firemen and volunteer helpers were, hurrying in and out the wide south door. Men carried out towering piles of books and tossed them ruthlessly to the ground. Miss Bonner's big pink geranium was added to the heap. The Janitor appeared with the big hall clock, that wouldn't go at all on ordinary occasions but was now striking seven hundred and twenty-seven—or something like that—all at one stretch. It seemed to be crying out in alarm. The roar of flames could now be heard, likewise.
"Why!" exclaimed Jean, wheeling suddenly. "Where's Mabel? Wasn't she right beside you a minute ago, Bettie? I certainly saw her there."
"She was—but she isn't now," returned Bettie, looking about anxiously. "I thought she was behind me."