“What!” cried Uncle Jeff. “No, you are wrong this time; it is a fresh mob from the busy part of the town, coming to see what plunder they can get from the fire.”
“Yes, I think you’re right,” said Stanley’s father—“come to see our ruin.”
“Who’s that talking about ruin?” said Uncle Jeff scornfully as, with Stan’s help, he took down the barricade and unfastened bar and bolt. “Let’s see what mischief the fire has done before we talk of that.”
“Think of saving our lives,” said Stan’s father excitedly. “Never mind the rest.”
“But I do mind the rest,” cried Uncle Jeff. “Come along, Stan. Never say die! I don’t believe the fire has had time to take much hold.”
“What are you going to do?” cried Stan’s father.
“Make a dash for the outer office, where the buckets hang. They’re all full.”
“For heaven’s sake take care! Don’t run any risks.”
Uncle Jeff did not seem to hear him, but ran down the stairs, to find the lobby full of smoke. His first act was to dash out the panes of glass in a fanlight to admit the fresh air, while directly after he threw open the door, whose fastenings Stan had by his instructions loosened.
“Keep back,” cried Stan’s father; “it is madness.”