Twice the volumes of smoke drove him back from the door, for Ridgeway had never done fire-drill at school, and knew nothing of the advantages of a wet towel; but the third time he made a dash down the passage and reached the belfry stairs. At the foot of the steps he trod upon something soft and, stooping, picked up Johnny in his arms and staggered back again.
When he appeared at the window with his burden the men sent up a cheer, but Ridgeway gave a hard, dry sob and muttered, "If 'e's dead I'm goin' back into the 'ouse; I'll never face the General."
All the same Ridgeway was the first to face the General when that aged warrior arrived at his drive gate early on Christmas morning. He faced the General with the intelligence that he would find his dining-room, his hall, and a great part of his staircase a mass of charred ruins by reason of the fusing of the wires of the recently installed electric light. And Ridgeway further related that to the General which almost consoled him for the state of chaos in which he found his household.
The General's own man had got out when Ridgeway stopped the motor at the drive gate. He and Ridgeway stood side by side at the door of the brougham while Ridgeway spoke.
"You've made it pretty clear that the boy saved the lot of you," said the General. "But who the dickens fetched the boy out of all that smother? Tell me that, now!"
Ridgeway passed his hand over his very rough chin and looked foolish, saying never a word.
"Get in, man!" said the General, "get in. Do you think we can loaf about here all day—get in!" and the General dragged Ridgeway into the motor with both hands.
As the motor rounded the last corner of the drive, the General beheld, as through a mist, a little figure in an Eton jacket standing outside the bulged and blackened front door.
The figure waved cheerfully and ran to assist the General to alight.
The old soldier grasped Johnny by the shoulder and shook him gently: