I
JACK GIVES THE ALARM
Jack Hillman was a newspaper carrier before breakfast, a school-boy after breakfast, and his mother’s right-hand man generally.
On the morning of this story, Jack had finished his newspaper route—all but three papers. It was about six o’clock and daylight was just breaking through the dampness and fog. The place was a quiet back street of three-story houses.
As Jack passed the third house from the end of the row, he happened to glance at the cellar window. A thin wisp of smoke-like vapor was slipping out between the sash and the frame of the window.
“It must be fog or steam,” thought Jack to himself.
He watched it a moment, and then ran to the window. It came out in a thicker volume. Quickly he stooped down and put his nose into it.
“It’s smoke! It’s smoke!” he cried, and peered in. The whole cellar was full of smoke.
Jack looked up and down the quiet street. No one was in sight. Something must be done quickly. He ran up the steps of the house, pounded on the door with his fist and pushed the bell button; but no one answered.
Then he ran down the middle of the street and began to cry:
Fire! Fire! Fire!