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

by James L. Ford

Skinny writes a letter to Mr. Korwein.—Page [270].

As the train rolled swiftly along our young hero sat with his face pressed against the car window looking out into the quiet night and thinking over the strange things that happened to him of late. To begin with, there was this dark bearded man of mystery who, he was positive, could tell him everything that he wished to know; and who was this ragged newsboy whom he had befriended—could it be possible that he was simply a hireling of the other and that he had been sent to Rocky Point to spy upon him? No, he could not doubt Skinny’s sincerity, and the feeling had been growing daily within him that through him the mystery which enveloped his early days and even his origin would finally be cleared up. One thing he had determined, and that was that as soon as he reached New York he would go to Mr. Korwein and boldly ask him—what? That was the trouble. What should he ask him? He would feel very foolish saying to that scarred and bearded gentleman: “Please sir will you tell me who I am and clear up the mystery which enshrouds me?”

His mind was still busy with this problem when the monotonous motion of the train got the better of his senses and he fell into a deep sleep.

And just at that moment Skinny the Swiper was lying wide awake in the comfortable attic room in which Mr. Wolcott had installed him and was asking himself what it all meant. Why should Mr. Korwein have sent him up to Rocky Point, and what had he to do with the grave of the young fireman’s mother? For the life of him he could not make it out and then he wondered if Mr. Korwein would ever find out about his treachery and at the thought of that great man’s wrath he curled himself up in bed, drew the clothes up over his face and resolved that he would remain on the farm until he had changed beyond all recognition. “Anyway,” he said to himself, “dis is a better place dan de Bowery, because dere’s more to eat an’ a place to sleep.”

And then he too fell asleep and did not waken until the daylight was streaming through the window over his head and Mrs. Wolcott calling to him from the foot of the staircase.

The little newsboy found life so pleasant during the autumnal weather on the shore of Lake Ontario that he began to think seriously of settling down to an agricultural life. The air was fine and bracing, the food plentiful and nutritious and the farmer and his wife treated him with great kindness and did not ask him to do more than a boy’s amount of work. Skinny’s life had been a hard one, and never in his recollection had he had as much to eat or enjoyed himself more than he had since his arrival in the little country place on the shore of the great lake. Good treatment was something that was more of a novelty to him than kicks and curses, and when his naturally suspicious mind grasped the fact that the farmer and his wife were kind to him, not because they expected to get the better of him in any way, but because it was their nature to be kind to all living things, and that they trusted him implicitly and seemed inclined to trust him so long as he proved worthy, it occurred to him for almost the first time in his life that there were some people in the world who did not go about with their hands lifted against such Arabs as himself, and he determined to repay their confidence with absolute fidelity to their interests.

He had remained with them nearly a month, and, as has been said already was beginning to think favorably of an agricultural life when something occurred which drove all ideas of rural felicity out of his mind and sent him adrift in the world once more. The something which served to alter his intentions was a letter which came to him one morning in the mail. It was from Bruce Decker who wanted to know how much longer he intended to stay in the country, and whether he could be induced to make a little trip to the city for the purpose of rendering him (Bruce) an important service.

As the newsboy finished spelling out his friend’s epistle, a gleam of delight came into his freckled face. Here was another friend who treated him like a human being and came to him as to some one whom he could trust to render him a service. Thrusting the letter into the inside pocket of his jacket he buttoned that faded and rather rusty garment tightly about him and went at once to his employer.

“Say, boss, I gotter go ter de city ter night,” was the way in which Skinny announced his intended departure.