"That's all right, Bill," exclaimed Frank. "It was my fault as much as yours. We shook hands on it when it was over, and as far as I'm concerned, it's ended." Then turning to the crowd he said, "I say, fellows, let's call it square," to which they more or less willingly agreed.
Bill now felt that he was small compared with his late opponent. He saw Frank do by a word what he himself could not do by words or blows. He waited until he got the opportunity, and then gave Frank a signal that he had something to say. Frank stepped aside.
"I want to make myself right with the 'bunch'," Bill told him. "I came over for that. But if I start to speak, they'll 'ride' me. You can help me. I got to say, Mulvy, that you're a far better fellow than I am, in every way. I was a skunk to bring on that fight. And I was worse than a skunk in doing what I did afterwards. But I'll be hanged if I'm going to stay one. I'll take all that's coming to me and square myself. You know what I mean?"
He paused for a reply, but Frank's ideas were in too much confusion to permit a ready answer. This was strong language to apply to a mere fight. It suggested that there was truth in the surmise of Ned Mullen, that there was more than the fight to account for the unusual stand taken by Father Boone in the affair.
Bill cleared his throat nervously, to continue, when the clang of fire bells sounded, and the rushing of the fire engines and trucks along the street brought the boys in a stampede to the door and the street windows. Frank and Bill were carried along with the others.
(VI)
Ordinarily, the passing of a fire engine engaged the crowd's attention but a few moments. The dashing engine and hose-cart always made a good spectacle. But now as the Club boys looked along the street, they saw not only smoke but flames. And they heard screams. All the fellows rushed out and followed the engine to the place where the police were roping off the fire line. The hook-and-ladder came along at a tearing pace. The firemen jumped from the truck, hoisted up the long, frail-looking ladder, and threw it against the cornice of the roof.
The shock somehow unhitched a connection at the last extension. The ladder hung suspended by only a light piece of the frame. In the window right under the ladder was a woman, and a child of four or five years. The firemen felt that if they brought the ladder back to an upright position, the last extension would break and they would not be able to reach the window. On the other hand, the ladder, as it stood, could not sustain a man's weight. A minute seemed an hour.
One of the firemen started to take the chance and run up. His foreman pulled him back. "It's sure death, Jim," he shouted. "That ladder won't hold you. You'd drop before you could reach them."
The foreman was right. The men were willing enough but there was no chance of reaching the top, or halfway to it.