Emile walked off.
A fire engine, a hosewagon, and a hookandladder passed him, shattering the street with clattering roar. Three blocks down smoke and an occasional gasp of flame came from the roof of a house. A crowd was jammed up against the policelines. Beyond backs and serried hats Emile caught a glimpse of firemen on the roof of the next house and
of three silently glittering streams of water playing into the upper windows. Must be right opposite the delicatessen. He was making his way through the jam on the sidewalk when the crowd suddenly opened. Two policemen were dragging out a negro whose arms snapped back and forth like broken cables. A third cop came behind cracking the negro first on one side of the head, then on the other with his billy.
“It’s a shine ’at set the fire.”
“They caught the firebug.”
“’At’s ’e incendiary.”
“God he’s a meanlookin smoke.”
The crowd closed in. Emile was standing beside Madame Rigaud in front of the door of her store.
“Cheri que ça me fait une emotiong.... J’ai horriblemong peu du feu.”
Emile was standing a little behind her. He let one arm crawl slowly round her waist and patted her arm with his other hand, “Everyting awright. Look no more fire, only smoke.... But you are insured, aint you?”