It was early, hardly dark yet, and Mr. Martin’s store was not far away. Ted had often gone down there alone in the evening.
“Be careful!” Ted’s mother called to him, as he ran out of the front door and down the street after his father. There were other men and boys on the sidewalk now, all running toward the scene of the fire. There were even some women and a few girls. But Jan remained at home with her mother and Trouble.
Mr. Martin heard pattering behind him the sound of little feet that he knew well. Turning, he saw Ted.
“You’d better go back,” warned the boy’s father.
“Please, I want to come! I’ll help!” promised the Curlytop lad.
“I’m afraid you can’t help very much,” said Mr. Martin. “But as long as you have come this far, I’ll have to take you. Give me your hand!”
With his father’s fingers clasping his, Ted found it much easier to run along. They were nearing the store and now could hear the tooting and clanging of the engines and the shouts of men and boys, mingled with the barking of dogs. Mr. Martin, in his excitement, was running so fast that Ted could hardly keen up, but the Curlytop boy managed to skip along, never letting go his father’s hand.
Suddenly, as they turned a corner, Mr. Martin and Ted saw the crowd in the street. They saw one engine pumping water, and another, with smoke pouring from the stack, was getting ready to work. There was also a cloud of smoke coming from an outside shed of Mr. Martin’s store.
“The fire’s in the shed, Ted!” exclaimed the boy’s father, in relief. “I guess it won’t amount to very much.”
“I’m glad of that,” Ted answered. It was about all he could say, for he was quite out of breath from having run so fast with his father.