“Come on,” Bob urged, entering the garage once more. “We must get those cars out at any cost.”
He looked about for some object with which he could break a glass, but could see nothing.
“If there was only a board, or even——”
“Here,” came from his father, moving on up with a sharp piece of metal, “let me do it.”
There was a crash, a splintering of glass, and the next moment Mr. Holton was inside. It took but a second to release the parking brake, and then the car rolled easily out of danger.
“There,” panted the naturalist, rubbing his hand over his forehead. “Now to get to the coupé.”
Just then there came the sound of fire bells, and before they had attended to the other car, several fire trucks pulled up in front of the house. Their occupants were easily attracted to the scene of the fire, and they lost no time in hurrying back.
“Quick!” yelled Joe, almost panic-stricken. “Let’s get Dad’s private car out. The enamel is already off the left front fender.”
Again Mr. Holton made use of the iron pipe, and the remaining automobile was pushed out just in time to avoid a large section of the roof that suddenly caved in.