"Why, yes, we'll go," said Mr. Bell, getting up from his rocking-chair. "We 're all alone to-night--the young people are off at a party. If you 'll persuade the young man not to put on too much speed."
So in less than five minutes the party were settling themselves in the big green car, its headlights making a wide, brilliant track before it down the quiet street.
"All ready?" asked Hille, and started the car. As it began to move, the distant but distinct sound of a telephone-bell struck upon Shirley's ear. Mr. Bell turned his head. "Was that in our house?" he asked.
Mrs. Bell was tying a scarf over her hair, slightly muffling her ears. She had not heard.
"Go on--fast!" breathed Shirley in Hille's ear. The street was nearly empty, and he obeyed. For a moment Mr. Bell's attention was taken by the new sensation of speed,--not appreciable speed, from the motorist's stand-point, because the car was within city limits, but to the novice considerable.
At the intersection of Gay Street with Conner Street it was possible to look for a moment straight down toward the heart of the city, into the business district. A red glare was plainly visible, although partly dimmed by hundreds of twinkling electric lights between.
"Must be a big fire," said Mr. Bell, straining his eyes to see. Then the trees and houses hid the city from view. "It was down our way, too. I wish I could telephone the factory and find out. Peter's there. He 'd know. Might be that was our telephone-bell that rang."
"I did n't hear any bell, dear," his wife assured him.
"A fire always looks nearer than it is," said Hille, over his shoulder, driving on without diminishing his speed. Instead, he accelerated it. The street was a quiet one, there was nobody in sight.
"One summer, when I was a little girl, and we were staying in the country, father and I walked half a mile to see a fire--and found a big red moon coming up behind the trees," said Shirley, and talked lightly on.