It was a shout of apprehension, for if this large building went it would be increasingly difficult to save the houses closely crowded beyond. At this critical instant the honk of an automobile horn drew the crowd's attention. The unusual will do that even in times of stress and automobiles are not allowed inside the Assembly grounds.
"It's Mayville! It's the Mayville hose," cried some one, and a hoarse cry of satisfaction went through the onlookers. Just in the nick of time they came, two hose wagons usually drawn by man power but now attached to the automobiles of two public-spirited citizens who heard the telephone summons and offered their cars which happened to be standing at the sidewalk.
The salvage crew was working hard in both houses now, and the Hancocks thought it best to remove some of their goods and chattels in case the flames spread beyond the boarding house. The helpers were increased by the audience from the organ recital in the Amphitheatre who left the program unfinished at the first note of the siren. An unceasing procession marched from the burning and the threatened cottages to Miller Park bearing china and glass and furniture. Some one threw Grandmother Emerson's trunk out of the window. It proved not to be locked and its contents spurted all over the walk before the house. Ethel Brown saw it and stuffed clothes and books back into it and called to two men to take it away. Some excited person in the boarding house began to toss bureau drawers down from the top of the front porch. Most of them broke when they struck the ground but the people below gathered up the collars and cravats and underwear and ran with them to the Park. A young girl who was found wandering about the lower floor carefully carrying half an apple pie which she had rescued from the pantry was led in the same direction.
Mrs. Emerson, rushing across the green from her embroidery lesson on the veranda of the Arcade, met Margaret Hancock tugging Dicky along in the direction of the lawn. He was sobbing wildly and his grandmother took him in her arms and sat down on a chair amid the piles of furniture to comfort him. From the direction of the Hall of Philosophy where they had been awaiting the coming of the Reading Hour came Mrs. Morton and Mr. Emerson, breaking into a run as they approached near enough to see that the fire was in the direction of their cottage. As they rushed across Miller Park they almost stumbled over Ethel Blue, curled up miserably on top of the old stump that is said to have supported many eloquent orators in the olden days.
"Are you hurt, dear child? Quick, tell me," demanded Mrs. Morton, while her father ran on to the scene of action.
"I'm not hurt. It's our house. I didn't help Ethel," cried the child.
"Where is Ethel? Is Dicky safe?"
The questions seemed to increase the child's agony.
"Can't you tell me? Oh, there's Grandmother with Dicky. Stay with her. And—listen to me—"
Her aunt seized Ethel by the arm and looked her squarely in the eyes.