As they approached the Boulevard she became conscious of a tremendous glow in the sky toward the west, a glow that seemed to rise, to pulsate, to bound and leap fitfully. Cantor saw it, too, and slackened speed. His lips were drawn; every now and then he moistened them with his tongue, and his eyes glowed with repressed excitement.
“It’s a fire,” said Hildegarde, with interest awakened. There was something about a big fire that fitted into her mood. “Let’s drive across the Boulevard and see.”
“We’ll only get into a mob,” he protested.
“Never mind. We’ll take that chance.”
“But, Miss von Essen, we may get shut off there and held up for hours.”
“You needn’t worry, if I don’t,” she said, sharply.
Cantor appeared more unwilling to obey her than a mere fear of delay could easily account for. One might have said that the region of the fire was one he very obviously wished to avoid, but he obeyed, nevertheless.
As they drew nearer and were able to guess at the locality of the fire Hildegarde said under her breath: “The Waite Motor Company—it is about there. Can that be it?”
“I don’t imagine so,” Cantor said, tensely; “their buildings are fire-proof, I’ve heard.”
“But it is,” Hildegarde insisted. “I’m sure it is. Hurry! It will be a tremendous fire. I want to see it.”