The police had taken charge of the situation, and were holding back, by means of a patrol, the great crowds of people so that they would not hinder the hurrying firemen in their work.
Sparks and flying pieces of burning wood were being hurled in every direction.
Frank and Lanky, leaping lines of hose, dodging the firemen, roughly breaking their way through the cordons of people here and there, dashed headlong for the fire.
“Hi! Come back there! Get back of the line!” yelled one policeman, as Frank broke through a crowd of onlookers.
Before he could dodge or wriggle through somewhere else the burly fellow had him by the shoulder.
“That’s my father’s place!” cried Frank. “Let me through so I can help him. Maybe he’s in there!”
The policeman looked the boy over, and then, slowly through his brain came a recollection of this young fellow and his athletic exploits in Columbia.
“All right, young feller,” he said, and Frank was released. “I’ll let ye go, but take care when ye reach the main line up there. Orders is orders, and we’re not to let any one through.”
Again Frank and Lanky stretched their legs for the fire, this time being slowed down considerably by the heat which rushed down upon them from the blaze which was rapidly gaining.
As they turned around the corner from the street on which the store faced, and looked down the side street this sight greeted their eyes: