“Phil, Phil, it’s the paper mill!”
“Is that so? Bedad, its foine kindlings they have there for a blaze.”
“Come on. Let’s get out the ingine.”
“What for, I dunno?” said Phil, scratching his head.
“To put out the fire. Here, Jackson, the ingine. Hold on, Smith, help run her up. Come on, Phil.”
Teddy run to the engine house, followed by Phil, and Smith and Jackson, who were on their way to the fire.
The engine was kept next door to the church. It was a heavy, old-fashioned affair, not much larger than a good-sized wash-tub, had not been moved for years, and it was very doubtful if it could be made to work. Of this Teddy took no thought. There was a fire, and the first thing to be done was to have it on the spot. So they pulled it out and started down the hill as fast as they could run. Not being experienced firemen, they did not use any “hold-back” measures, and the consequence was, half way down the hill they found the “ingine” close upon their heels, and themselves in danger of being crushed. With one accord they dropped the rope, and sprang to the sides of the road. “Cataract”—this was the name by which the extinguisher was known—being deserted by its leaders, went thundering down the hill and tipped over at the bottom.
“By my sowl,” said Phil Hague, “that’s a quare way of putting out a fire. The contrary divil’s laid down for a nap.”
“Come on, it ain’t hurt; let’s set it up and lug it up the hill,” said Teddy hurrying to the prostrate Cataract.
They managed to get it upon its wheels again, tugged up the hill with their heavy burden, and at last reached the fire. A hose was laid and the engine manned, but the rusty machine refused to work. All this time Teddy had been sweating and hurrying to get it in operation. It was a sore disappointment to him after all his trouble.