His father hesitated. “But my boy—”
“There’s little danger, Dad. The blankets are thick. And I know just where the instruments are. And see, I’ll wear these gauntlets,” he added, pulling a pair over his hands.
Somewhat reluctantly Mr. Orr took the blankets and threw them over Jack’s head, and on the run Jack plunged into the wall of smoke.
With one gloved hand outstretched he found the telegraph-room door, and the knob. He pressed against it, and with a crash and then a roar the door collapsed before him. But without a moment’s hesitation he darted on within, groped his way to the table, found the relay, and with a desperate wrench tore it from its place. The next moment he dashed blindly into his father’s arms at the outer door, and threw the smoking blankets and sizzling, burning relay to the sidewalk.
“Water on it quick,” gasped Jack, pointing to the instrument. Catching it up in a corner of one of the blankets Mr. Orr ran with it to a horse-trough in front, and plunged it into the water.
As he returned Jack was drawing on a second pair of gauntlets.
“Jack, you’re not going back!” said his father sharply.
“I want the key, Dad.”
“Look there.” Glancing within Jack saw that the whole rear of the store was now enveloped in flames.
“And it would be of no use in any case. Look at this,” said Mr. Orr, holding up the smoking relay.