The boy was right. Hardly had the echoes of the tocsin died out before from dozens of houses boyish figures came pouring. Boy Scouts every one of them, and ready for active duty. Little Andy, the Eagles’ bugler, went tearing past as Rob dropped the bell rope, satisfied that the alarm had been well-sounded. He was racing on when Rob seized him by the shoulder.
“Sound the assembly!” he ordered.
Andy, considerably startled at first, quickly recovered himself, and placed the bugle to his lips. The sibilant call was soon sounding. In less than five minutes the Boy Scouts had obediently gathered at the firehouse, and, under Rob’s directions, were falling in to await orders. Dale Harding was there, too, with the Hawks, and the two patrols eagerly hung on the next word of command.
Down the street came Boffy Groggs, the janitor of the firehouse. He was half asleep and was regarding the key he carried in his hand as if he hardly knew what to do with it. The volunteer firemen of the village had not yet put in an appearance.
“Putting on their fancy uniforms,” guessed Rob, as Boffy came mooning along.
“Hey, Boffy, give me that!” shouted Rob, as he saw the key in the sleepy old man’s hand.
“Fire in your hat?” inquired old Boffy, who was somewhat deaf.
“No, give me that!” snapped Rob. “Quick, there’s no time to lose!”
“I haven’t got on my shoes, and that’s a fact,” grunted Boffy, comprehendingly. “I’ll go back and put them on.”
He was actually starting back when Rob seized the key from his hand.