"Here's the ax, Frank," said Lanky, as he pushed in alongside them.
"Good! You receive the buckets as they come. Don't throw any more water, but keep it ready while I tear out this place here. I think all the fire that is left lies back of the wall in this wing off the main building."
Frank as he spoke swung the ax and vigorously attacked the woodwork. He had no compunction about smashing a hole right into that wall. Better a few dollars expended in making repairs than have the whole building gutted.
His suspicions were quickly verified. Hardly had the ax broken through than a tongue of flame shot through the new opening. The fire had been deluged with water in other places, and routed, but here, back of the wall, it had continued to smoulder sullenly.
After a few more hearty blows, given in order to enlarge the opening, Frank called out to his assistant.
"Now bring on your water, Lanky! Soak it in well! There, hear that fire hiss and splutter, will you. A little more juice, Mr. Volunteer. That's the ticket. I guess we've got it out, all right!" he exclaimed, wiping the perspiration from his begrimed forehead.
If the air was cold without it had been warm enough where he worked. His eyes smarted with the pungent smoke, and his throat felt as "dry as a Sahara," as Frank himself presently declared, when he took up a tin pail and swallowed some of its contents.
The fire was conquered, and the farmhouse saved! Many were the loud expressions of satisfaction from the guests. They crowded around the three boys, and insisted upon shaking hands time after time. Indeed, Lanky secretly declared that his arm ached more from this exercise than from handling water pails.
"Let's clean up the mess as best we may!" cried one of the women.
"Yes, get order out of chaos!" echoed the old farmer, whose face was now beaming with delight after his recent scare.