"Get out of the way!" cried Allen, shoving him roughly to one side.
The fireman called after him, but there was no stopping the terror that forced him on. Terror for Betty—up there alone—Betty—Betty. He clapped a hand before his eyes and stumbled blindly on.
Flames lapped at him hungrily as he forced his mad way through them, smoke choked him, blinded him, and yet he must go on. Betty—Betty… A section of the stairs gave way before him and he had to jump to keep from going with it.
Was this the head of the stairs? He felt for it with his hand and pulled it back with an involuntary cry of pain. He was horribly burned, his hands, his face, his hair—his clothing had started. He beat at them as he ran. He must live until he had rescued Betty—and then——
A door. Fumblingly he opened it—then forced it shut from the other side. Blindly he felt for the bed. Yes, she was here. Thank God he had found her! But there was another figure—someone else to save.
Then he felt a sharp pain. He looked down and found that the flames were rapidly creeping up—creeping up… There was a rug on the floor—with feverish haste he wrapped himself in it—smothering the flames. He must live until——
He staggered to his feet, lifted one of the unconscious figures in his arms and staggered with it to the door. A hades of flame leaped at him. It was too late. They were trapped!
He groaned aloud and great tears rolled down his face. Betty—Betty!
Carefully he laid his burden down and staggered to the open window.
The firemen were raising a ladder to another window. He beckoned to them, he shouted to them in a hoarse voice that seemed to him to make no noise at all.
But they saw him and shifted the ladder to his window. Was there a chance, after all? The flames were eating away the door, were leaping into the room. Down below the firemen had stretched a net.