“No! No!” shouted Nan. “You’ll get burned. If the house is on fire we must telephone in an alarm. Mother always said to call the engines first thing! Telephone in the alarm, Bert!”
“I can’t telephone the alarm in, Nan,” he said.
“Why not?”
“The telephone’s broken! I’ll have to run down the street and pull the box!”
“Can’t you go next door and telephone?” Nan wanted to know. “Oh, of course you can’t! Oh, it’s getting worse, Bert!”
It surely was—at least the smoke was.
“Get Flossie and Freddie out!” gasped the boy. “And Aunt Sallie! Never mind the house—let it burn!”
“Oh, Bert Bobbsey! Let our lovely house burn!”
“Well, we can’t put it out, can we? Get Flossie and Freddie out and Mrs. Pry! I’ll go pull the fire box!”
It seemed the best thing to do. Upstairs ran Nan to the playroom where Flossie and Freddie were crying, for they were much frightened.