"I'll be careful."
Herbert Dare was the only son of a widow, Mrs. Roscoe Dare. Her husband had died several years previous, leaving her a small income, barely sufficient to support herself and her son. It may be added here that Mr. Dare had been a city fireman before his marriage. This, perhaps, accounted in a measure for the interest Herbert took in all alarms and conflagrations.
"It certainly looks like a big fire," thought the boy, as he broke into a run down the street. He soon caught up with the crowd hastening to the blaze.
"Hello, Bert!" shouted a lad to him. "Going to help put the fire out?"
"If they need me, Vincent. I see you have your bucket."
"Yep," replied Vincent Templer, one of Bert's chums. "It's dad's. He belongs to the bucket brigade, but he's away from home, and I took it."
"I wish I had one."
"Oh, I guess they'll have plenty at the barn."
"They'll need 'em, for it looks as if it was pretty well on fire."
The reflection of the blaze was now so bright that objects in the street could be plainly seen, and faces easily distinguished at a considerable distance.