“Good night!” yells Pete. “There’s another place! In a minute she’ll be a goner!”
Honest, I’m standing there, looking on, and no matter how hard I try I can’t help feeling sorry for old Crabby. Somehow, it comes over me just then how awful alone he must be and how little real joy he must be getting out of life ... and then to come back and find the only place that’s been any comfort to him in ashes...! Well, after thinking of this, if I’ve had any temptation to rejoice over his misfortune on account of the way he’s treated us, it’s gone in a hurry.
“Fellows!” I says, “We’ve got to figure some way to save that house!”
The boys look at me as though they think I’m crazy. Not that they wouldn’t have been glad to have done what they could but the whole thing looks so hopeless. And then the idea comes to me!
“Quick, guys!” I calls. “This melting snow! It’s great packing! We’ll soak it up on the roof!”
I don’t need to go any further. The fellows are diving into the snow p. d. q. and in less than a minute we’ve got a firing line in operation. It takes us a few seconds to get the range but pretty soon great gobs of snow are landing on top and all around the blazing spots and it isn’t long before the spots send up a hissing noise, grow dim, and then go black out. But now the old fairgrounds fire is at its height and firebrands are blowing across the road and dropping on Crabby’s house like hailstones. By this time folks from town have commenced arriving and some of them join us in the battle. We keep peppering Crabby’s roof from all sides, aiming at every place where a blazing spark or firebrand lands and it’s a merry fight to keep these places from getting beyond our control.
“If we could only get inside!” says Pete, when it looks like all we can do isn’t going to be enough.
“Here’s Mr. Jacobs now!” cries someone, and the next instant the most frenzied individual you ever saw comes running up. He takes in what we’re doing at a glance.
“Poor old duffer!” someone else says. “He’s run all the way out from town!”
“Boys!” gasps Mr. Jacobs, sinking down on the front steps, exhausted, “Here’s my keys! If you’d like to get to the roof...!”