The entire northwest corner of the Allen Department Store was ablaze, flames leaping from the tier of windows running up the freight elevator. The flames had probably started at some floor near the bottom of the building and had been drawn straight upward through the elevator shaft, which acted as a giant flue, or stack. The danger lay in their spreading to each of the floors.
Frank stood motionless as the sight lay before him. Lanky stood panting beside him, their eyes taking in the scene from top to bottom.
“There’s dad!” Frank moved swiftly across the street to where he saw his father helping direct the work of the firemen. “What can I do, dad?”
“Nothing right now, boy. The thing is just trying to get a start. Those iron doors at the elevator openings will hold the flames from each of the floors, if only we can keep them in check for a little while.”
But Frank was hardly willing, like the red-blooded boy he was, to stand idly by and permit this to be going on without some effort on his part to help.
“Dad—” he grabbed his father by the sleeve—“what do you say if I take some of that fire-fighting powder and try to get it down the shaft?”
“That’s the idea! But don’t you do it! Let some of the firemen do that. They’re better prepared.”
Frank paid no further heed. He called to Lanky, and then led the way to the warehouse across the alley from the store. In his pocket was a key which he always carried, for he stored much of his athletic material there from time to time. Unlocking the door and quickly closing it behind them as the two boys entered, Frank found the spot where the stock of fire-fighting powder was kept. He and Lanky took three packages each, as much as they could safely carry.
“How’ll we get up there?” asked Lanky.
“Go through the lodge rooms next door. Let’s get over there and get to that adjoining roof. Some of the firemen can bring a ladder up.”