The women began to whimper.
“Oh, the poor man! The roof will fall in on him! He'll smother to death! Oh, why doesn't somebody go tell him to come away? Not you! Don't you think of such a trick! Oh, why does he risk his life for a lot of trash I wouldn't have around the house?”
The smoke oozes out of the open window. It must be choking in there. For a long time no jettison of household goods appears. Perhaps the man, whoever he is, has seen his peril and fled while yet it was possible to flee. Ah, but suppose he has been overcome and lies there huddled in a heap, never to rouse again? Is there none to save him? Is there none? Ah! A couple of collars and a magazine flutter out into the light! He is still there. He is still alive. Plague take the idiot! Why doesn't he come down out of that?
“Yoffemoffemoffemoffemoff. Yoffemoff!”
But no! He will do it himself. The Chief rushes gallantly into the burning building and disappears up the dark stair.
Desperate measures are now to be resorted to. On the lawn a line of men forms. They bend their necks, cowering before the fierce glow, but daring it, and prepared to face it at even closer range. You are to witness now an exhibition of that heroism which is commoner with us than we think, that spirit of do and dare which mocks at danger and even welcomes pain. It is a far finer sentiment than the cold-hearted calculation which looks ahead, and figures out first whether it is worth while or not.
The men dash forward in the withering heat. With frantic haste they fix the hook into the lattice-work beneath the porch and scamper back.
“Yo hee! Yo hee!”
The thick rope tautens as the firemen lay their weight to it. You can almost see the bristling fibers stand up on it.
“Yo hee! Yo hee!”