The street was filled with excited men who were running back and forth. Many of them were persons who had come from near-by buildings to see the fire. Some were from the burning building, trying to save their possessions. The firemen themselves were the coolest of the lot, and went about their tasks as if there was nothing unusual the matter. Soon the police patrol dashed up and the blue-coats piled out and began to establish fire lines. Larry, like many others, was forced to get back from the middle of the street.
The boy, however, managed to keep his position in the front rank. He watched with eager eyes the firemen at work, and never thought how wet he was.
“It’s going to be a bad blaze,” remarked a man near Larry. “The fire department’s going to have its hands full this time.”
It certainly seemed so, for flames were spouting from all the windows on the top story and the one below it. More engines dashed up, and the excitement, noise, and confusion grew.
In front of Larry a big policeman was standing, placed there by the sergeant in charge of the reserves to maintain the fire lines. The officer had his back toward the crowd, and enjoyed a good vantage point from which to watch the flames. A young fellow, with his coat collar and trousers turned up, and carrying an umbrella, worked his way through the crowd until he was beside Larry.
“Let me pass, please,” he said, and then, slipping under the rope which the police had stretched, he was about to pass the policeman and get closer to the fire.
“Here, come back, you!” the officer exclaimed.
“It’s all right; I’m a reporter from the Leader,” said the young fellow, and he turned, showing a big shining metal star on his coat.
“Go ahead,” spoke the policeman. “You’ll have a good story, I’m thinking.”
“Anybody hurt?” asked the reporter, pausing to ask the first question that a newspaper man puts when he gets to a fire.