“Tom Tench!” cried Angelina, catching her cousin’s arm and shaking him. “Do something! This instant!”
“I won’t!” said he. “The fire started downstairs, on Gayle’s premises, and it was his business to check it.”
“It has spread to your premises. Put it out there, and—”
“You’ll begin,” said Tom Tench.
“I shall not!” said the professor. “I’ll be—I won’t!”
And they kept on doing nothing, in spite of the desperate appeals and entreaties, the wrath and despair, of Angelina and Bess.
“Then we will!” cried Angelina.
Followed by Bess, she ran around to the front of the house and up the steps of the veranda. She was just opening the door when she was seized by the arm and spun around.
“I’m here,” said her brother. “Don’t worry!”
To the surprise and indignation of Bess, the mere fact of her brother’s being there seemed to reassure Angelina entirely. She sat down on the rail of the veranda with a sigh of relief.