“Pull the hook all the way down and let go.”
For a moment Jack was frightened. Perhaps there wasn’t any fire after all, and to turn in a false alarm was against the law. Hesitating, he looked about for help; but the street was empty.
“But the house is on fire; I saw it; I know it,” he said to himself.
Trembling with excitement, Jack pulled the hook to the bottom of the slot and let go:
Instantly the bell began to ring: Ting-a-ling! Ting-a-ling-a-ling! Hurrah—the alarm was in!
Again, Jack looked up and down the street. To his relief, he saw his friend the policeman on the beat, about a block away, hurrying towards him.
Quickly Jack told his story. “Good work, Jack, good work! You stay right here and direct the firemen where to go;” and the policeman vanished around the corner on a run to the fire.
Still the bell in the box was ringing merrily, but no firemen were to be seen. “Will they never come?” thought Jack. It seemed hours to wait. Clang! clang! a little red automobile came dashing down the street. As a matter of fact, it was just three minutes since Jack had “pulled the box.”
Jack knew the man in the car—one of his heroes, the battalion chief. Right behind came engine number 29, smoking and puffing, and hosecart number 21, and ladder-truck number 12, crowded with men. The clanging gongs echoing through the quiet street sounded like sweet music to the anxious boy.
“Right around the corner, Seventh and Poplar!” shouted Jack, pointing the way and not waiting for the question.