By this time half a score of engines and trucks had drawn up in front of the tenement, summoned by the alarm the policeman had turned in.
The various apparatus had not come to a halt before dozens of firemen had leaped to the ground, and run into the house. They wasted no time. While some sprang up the stairs to rescue any persons who had been left behind, others sought the source of the blaze. They soon discovered it to be in the cellar.
Lighting the way with lanterns they carried they dashed down, not minding the choking smoke.
“Run in a chemical line!” shouted a battalion chief through a small megaphone he carried. “It’s only a pile of rubbish on fire. We don’t need any water.”
Quickly a small hose from the chemical engine was unreeled. The engineer turned a crank at one end of a big cylinder, and a bottle inside which contained vitriol was smashed, allowing the contents to mingle with a strong solution of soda water. This created carbonic-acid gas, and forced the mingled liquids out through the hose at high pressure.
On to the blazing pile of rubbish the chemicals were turned, and the little blaze, which was more of smoke than of fire, was soon out.
“It’s all over!” cried the battalion chief, five minutes later. “You can go back to bed!”
The people began to laugh hysterically, so sudden was the relief from anxiety. Several could not believe but what the house was doomed. The firemen, however, assured them there was no danger. Through the open windows the smoke was soon blown away. The engines started back to quarters.
“Come on, mother,” said Larry. “I guess we can go back now.”
“Golly! Wasn’t that just like a circus!” exclaimed Jimmy.