“I say, can’t you give me a lift? I’ve hurt my ankle,” was what he heard, as he hastily pulled up his horse and there, seated on a big rock, by the roadside, was a young boy, apparently not more than fifteen years of age, whose handsome clothes were torn and dust-covered, and whose face was deathly pale. Bruce alighted at once from the wagon and asked him what the matter was.
“I was just on my way home,” replied the boy, “and I tried to make a running jump over those rocks, when I slipped and fell, now it hurts me to touch my foot to the ground, and my left ankle hurts me awfully. Can’t you take me home in your wagon? My father will pay you for your trouble.”
“Certainly, I’ll give you a lift,” replied Bruce, “but your father needn’t pay me anything for it; just stand up beside me and I’ll lift you in.”
With a little trouble, he placed the boy in the seat and then climbed in himself and sat down beside him. The two lads were not slow in making one another’s acquaintance. The injured boy said that his name was Harry Van Kuren and he pointed out his father’s house, a large handsome residence surrounded by well kept grounds. He was fifteen years old, he said, and did not go to school, but had a private tutor who lived in the house with him, and nearly always accompanied him when he went out to walk or ride.
“And how do you happen to be here?” inquired young Van Kuren.
Then Bruce told him of his errand to Mr. Dexter’s and showed him the pile of books and magazines which he was taking back for the firemen to read.
“But you don’t mean to say that you belong to the fire department, do you?” exclaimed Harry excitedly.
“Yes, I’ve been on the force pretty near three months,” answered Bruce proudly.
“My, but you’re a lucky chap,” cried his companion. “I just wish my father would let me join, but he won’t let me do anything I want to. I never have any fun anyway; there’s nothing to do in this stupid old place, except to go riding on my pony, and once in a while have a sail on the Sound. There are no other boys for me to play with—that is, none that I like—and I have to go in the house every night at six and stay there till bedtime. I suppose you have all the fun in the world getting up in the middle of the night and going to fires, and driving like mad through the streets. Say, why can’t you let me go out with you some time.”
But Bruce shook his head dubiously, he was willing to have the boy imagine that he himself was one of the leading members of the company, and he wished moreover to impress him with the idea that it was no easy matter for a young boy to become a member of the New York Fire Department. “I’m afraid,” he said, “that you’d find it very difficult to get an appointment. I believe I’m the youngest member of the whole department, and I know I never would have been taken on, if it hadn’t been on account of my father, who was a fireman before me.”