“But about the fire?” Dorothy interrupted him impatiently. “How did it start? What made it?”
“An explosion in the back room, I believe,” returned Nat, his usually merry face clouded with anxiety. “Nobody seems to know what made it, but there is a general impression that there was some sort of explosion. People in the neighborhood say they heard a loud noise and a few moments later saw smoke coming out of the store windows.”
“About time somebody sent in an alarm, I should think,” began Tavia, but Nat silenced her.
“You would think somebody sent in an alarm if you could have glimpsed the number of engines rushing to the rescue,” he retorted. “I don’t think there was a firehouse in North Birchlands, even the smallest and humblest that was neglected.”
“Yet they failed to save the store,” murmured Dorothy.
“It was a fierce fire and by the time the firemen turned a working stream on it, the whole place was gutted.”
“Was anybody hurt?” inquired Tavia, and Dorothy turned startled eyes on Nat. It was the first time she had thought of that possibility.
“Mr. Haskell was pretty badly burned,” replied Nat reluctantly. “The old codger would dodge back into the flames in a crazy attempt to save his account books. They were burned up, of course, and he came very near following in their footsteps.”
“They haven’t got any, as you know very well, Nat White,” said Tavia flippantly, but instantly her face sobered as she looked at Dorothy. Her chum was white and there was a strained expression about her mouth that made her suddenly look years older.
“You shouldn’t have told her that about Mr. Haskell,” Tavia reproached Nat. “It wasn’t necessary to go into all the gruesome details.”