“Hey! Hey!” shouted Boffy, indignant at being robbed of his authority, as he deemed it, “give that back, Rob Blake, you’ve got no right——”
“To be wasting time here,” exclaimed Rob, impatiently, and hastily opening the firehouse door; “that’s true enough, Boffy—Hullo, Tubby, where is the fire?”
“It’s—it’s at Paul Perkins’s,” exclaimed the fat boy, who had just come racing up; “the wagon house—poof—it——”
He stopped, all out of breath, and gasped like a newly-landed fish.
“Out with the engine, boys, and race her down to Paul Perkins’s place!” ordered Rob, not waiting to hear the rest.
With a shout the Boy Scouts swept into the engine house, and soon were tailing onto the long ropes by which the engine was dragged.
“Forward! Double quick!” came the next order.
“Here! Here!” shouted Boffy.
“We’re going to the fire. Out of the way, Boffy!” yelled the boys.
“It’s not for hire! Bring it back!” shouted the hard-of-hearing janitor.