“O.K. with me.” Lefty was always nice.
But Mack said, “Why does that kid have to be forever hanging around?” Was he afraid she would tell the mystery? He had not mentioned it to her again. He probably wanted to solve it himself and reap the glory.
“Pipe down, Mack.” Lefty told him. “This happens to be my car and if you don’t care to go with us, you might hire a taxi and put it on your petty cash account. That is, if you haven’t padded it too much already this week.”
That was a snub for Mack! For the Journal staff rumored among themselves that Mack often treated Miss Betty to sodas and candy, charging it up to his expense account as car fare or stamps. He did it because he wanted Miss Betty to like him better than she did Tim. They didn’t know that it was true, but the remark silenced Mack, for he said nothing as Joan climbed into the back seat. She wished she dared ask them to stop for Amy. At the corner, however, they passed Chub on his way to a movie on “passes.” When he saw Lefty and the camera, he did not wait for anything. He hopped up on the running board and climbed over the door into the back seat.
“Gee!” he said, when he heard the news. “Wouldn’t you know it would happen on Star time?” Since the Journal came out in the afternoon, the Star would have the story first.
The town of Black Stump was busy now. The big double doors of the Fire Hall stood open, revealing dark emptiness within. Men, women, and children were running about in the road—all in the direction of the fire. Lefty had to honk often and drive cautiously.
Now they could see the red glare in the sky, beyond the blur of the trees. At the entrance to the estate was a cluster of people. Lefty steered over the rustic bridge and past the pond, now dim and dark. As they approached the house, they could feel the heat of the fire, hear the crackle of it and the fall of the timber under the axes of the Volunteers. Lefty parked the car, and the Journal men hurried out, Tim leaving orders that Chub was to look out for Joan. Lefty swung his camera over his shoulder and ran into the flickering, leaping shadows. Chub dashed off and Joan was alone.
People were all about, shouting, talking, screaming. The smoke made Joan’s eyes blink as she peered about. She saw that the Volunteers had confined the fire to one wing of the house.
Chub came darting back. “Say, a bunch of kids from the Boyville School are helping the Volunteers. They phoned the principal and he sent about fifty of ’em down. Freed on their word of honor to go back. Trying out a new honor system. They marched down here, two and two, somebody said. They’re hustlers. Come and watch.”
Joan followed, stepping over the bumpy, mended places in the Volunteer hose stretched along the ground. “I know one of the boys at the home,” she told Chub. “Alex White. I wonder if he’s here.”