[CHAPTER XXV]
SAM SIGNALS FOR A FAST ONE
Tom Pollock was working late that evening at Cummings and Wright’s. Baseball activities had put him behind with his correspondence and he was trying to catch up with it. Only the light over his desk was burning and the rest of the store was dim and empty. As he sealed and addressed his final letter he glanced at the little tin clock before him. The hour was just short of nine. In the act of opening a drawer to get stamps, he paused with outstretched hand and listened alertly. From down Main Street came the shrill, unmistakable whistle of Amesville’s single auto-engine. Tom gathered his letters into a pile, seized his cap, switched out the light, and hurried to the door.
As he stepped onto the sidewalk and turned the key behind him the whistle at the electric light plant burst on the air and, around the corner of Alton Street, a few blocks above, a horse-drawn engine sprang into sight, bell clanging, sparks flying. Tom joined the throng which, springing seemingly from the very pavement, was hurrying down the main street. Several blocks below, he could see the auto-engine spouting red sparks into the air. The Alton Street hitch, straining at their collars, thudding the pavement with flying hoofs, raced past, followed in a moment by the hose-cart. Bells were ringing at every street corner, it seemed, by the time Tom reached the place where the police were herding the crowd back into the cross streets and where the crew of the auto-engine were already connecting with the hydrant at the corner. As the crowd gave back before the commands of the police, Tom caught sight of several rubber-coated firemen disappearing into the broad entrance of the Adams Building nearly opposite.
For the next few minutes confusion reigned. The hook-and-ladder trundled up, more engines reached the scene, the throb of the pumps began, fuel wagons dashed here and there, parting the crowds, a third alarm boomed over the city. Ladders rose in air, grew in length, swayed, and tottered against the tall building which reared its slender front high above the surrounding roofs. But Amesville’s new sky-scraper had been built only a few months, while her fire-fighting apparatus was far older, and it was at once evident that the longest of the extension ladders would not reach above the sixth story. The crowd still laughed and joked excitedly. The Adams Building was said to be fireproof and so the most that could happen would be the burning-out of an office or two, scarcely serious work for the whole department, they thought. Of course, it was right to be on the safe side, but a third alarm seemed rather absurd, and when, almost immediately, four blasts of the big whistle sounded, many thought the Chief had gone crazy!
So far no sign of fire was to be seen outside the building. Its tier on tier of dark windows gave no hint of what was going on inside. Not a light showed anywhere, save when a fireman appeared at the door with a lantern. But at last the blackness behind the windows paled, took on a murky-red tinge, and smoke began to billow out at the doorway. A great gasp of surprise and horror arose from the watchers. Here, then, was no mere incident to bring an hour’s amusement, but a veritable tragedy!
Further and further away the throngs were pushed and ropes were strung across the streets. Tom found himself jammed against a doorway on Bennett Street, his view of a corner of the big building almost cut off by a broad-shouldered man in front of him. Searching backward with his foot, he found a step and managed to ascend it, those behind good-naturedly giving way. From somewhere came the rumour that Chapinsville and even Bow City had been called on for apparatus.
“It would take two hours to get engines here from Bow City,” said an excited little man at Tom’s elbow. “Anyhow, they ain’t got enough pressure to fight that fire. And they ain’t got the ladders.”
“Good thing it didn’t start in the daytime,” said another man. “Lots of folks would have been burned up, I guess.”