“If we can only keep it down until the fellows come with the hose, we’ll do all right,” gasped Tom, choking from the smoke. There was a high pressure water service maintained at the college, hose being connected with a big tank, for the buildings were so far from town that the fire department could not easily get there.
Again and again the alarm boomed out from the big bell, rung by the vigorous arms of the Californian. The others kept playing the streams on the fire, retreating as it got hotter, and rushing in on it as they gained a momentary advantage.
“Aren’t they ever coming?” gasped Tom. The college lads had formed an amateur fire brigade, and had frequent drills.
“They’ve got to—pretty soon!” choked Phil.
“Here they come!” cried Frank, and he hastened down from the organ loft, where he had been pulling on the bell rope, catching up an extinguisher as he came. Soon he was adding his stream to the others.
Outside could be heard excited yells and shouts, and the rumble of the hand hose carts as the students rushed them toward the chapel.
In a short time Tom and his chums were being assisted by scores of their mates, who, in all sorts of nondescript garments, formed a strange contrast to our four heroes, in their immaculate dress suits—no, not immaculate any longer, for they were dripping from the chemicals, they were dirty and smoke begrimed, and Tom and Sid’s garments were scorched in several places by the sparks.
“Say, did you fellows stop to tog up before you came to the fire?” demanded Holly Cross hoarsely, as he directed a stream of water into the very heart of the blaze.
“Of course,” answered Tom, for he saw Proctor Zane coming up with two pails of water to dash on the embers.
“Well, I’ll be——” began Holly, and Sid quickly stopped him with a punch in the ribs.