The Third Alarm: A Story of the New York Fire Department

by James L. Ford

“Hully gee!” was all that this little New York street boy had to say; but coming from him it possessed a deeper significance than is conveyed by the cold type which spells the words.

First he looked at the grave-stone, and then he looked at Bruce Decker, and finally he asked: “Wuz dat your mother?”

“Yes,” replied Bruce, simply.

Skinny said nothing but he thought a great deal; and while he was thinking he scratched his head and looked down at the half obliterated mound of earth that marked the grave of Mrs. Decker. From the very first he had suspected that there was some connection between the gallant young fire laddie, who had saved his life and carried him from the burning building, and the scarred and bearded man who had sent him to this remote corner of the world. He had not forgotten that he had been solemnly charged not to breathe a word to any human being in regard to his strange errand, and he had an intuitive feeling that if he violated in any way the trust reposed in him, his employer would learn of it, and mete out to him a terrible vengeance, instead of the liberal reward that he had promised.

On the other hand, he saw before him the boy who had done for him what no one else in the world would have done for a friendless, ragged child of the streets, and for a moment he hesitated as to which of these two masters he should choose to serve. To the one he owed a certain amount of loyalty—a few dollars worth, perhaps—but to the other he owed his life. He raised his eyes, and encountered the clear, honest, truthful ones of Bruce, which looked him square in the face, and he hesitated no longer. Rough contact with the world had taught him to be suspicious of others, and it was rare enough in his career that he had encountered any one whom he fully trusted. But there was that in Bruce’s face which caused him to say to himself: “Dat man is all right, an’ white,” which is a high compliment for a newsboy to pay any one.

Having reached the conclusion that Bruce was the best friend he was likely to have in the world, he took from his pocket the written instructions which Mr. Korwein had given him, handed the paper to the new master whom he had elected to serve, and blurted out: “Hay, boss, ain’t dat de same party?”

To say that Bruce was surprised when he saw his mother’s name written in an unknown handwriting, and in the possession of his little hospital friend but feebly describes his condition of mind.

“Come over here with me,” he said, as he led the way to a low stone wall, somewhat remote from the couples who were walking up and down the paths, laughing and whispering and talking. Then, seating himself on a convenient bowlder, he said to Skinny: “How in the world did you ever get hold of this paper?”

And Skinny in reply told him the whole story of the dark-bearded man, who had summoned him to his office, and sent him away to the shore of the great inland lake, simply to get information about Mary Decker and her son, if son she had. Skinny’s recital occupied nearly a quarter of an hour, for he stretched it so as to include his adventures while on the road from New York, and the circumstances which had led to his becoming what he called a haymaker. Bruce listened intently to every word the boy uttered, and questioned him narrowly in regard to Mr. Korwein and his motive in entrusting him with such a strange commission. Of course Skinny could not account for the man’s motives, and, indeed, that was something he had not troubled himself about. It was enough to him that his employer wished to obtain certain information, and was willing to pay for it. So long as he could be well paid for his work he did not concern himself about people’s motives, or ask what would be done with the information which he supplied. But he did not neglect to mention the fact that in telling as much as he had, he had betrayed his employer, and he warned his friend to keep strictly to himself all that he had told him. Bruce readily agreed to this, and then, as the afternoon had already merged into twilight, they returned to the village, Skinny, passing on to Mr. Wolcott’s house and Bruce going to that of the friends whom he was visiting.

The following evening the two boys met again by agreement, and, with his friends assistance, Skinny composed and sent to his employer in New York the following letter: