“It is a fire, surely enough,” declared Mrs. Martin, when she had looked down the street.
“And it’s near my house, if it isn’t in it!” exclaimed Mr. Cardwell. “Excuse me!” he said hastily, as he pushed his way between Ted and Janet on the steps. “But I’d better get down there!”
“I’ll come and help,” offered Mr. Martin.
“May I come?” asked Ted.
“No, Son, you stay with your mother,” directed his father.
As the two men hurried out of the front gate, joining the throng that was running toward the scene of the fire, Mrs. Martin took Trouble by one hand and Janet by the other and said:
“We’ll just walk down a little way to see what’s going on. Come along, Ted.”
Much pleased that he did not have to stay away altogether from the fire, the Curlytop lad followed his mother and the others. The engines were already on hand, and it was their puffing and tooting of whistles that had made some of the noise.
“It isn’t Mr. Cardwell’s house, though,” said Mrs. Martin, when she and the Curlytops, with Trouble, had gone far enough down the street to see just where the fire was. “It’s next door to him.”
“I wouldn’t want a fire next door to me,” sighed Janet.