“Come down out of that attic!” roared a chief through his megaphone at Potter or Milmarsh, whichever it was. “You can’t reach the girl. Hurry down, and you may save yourself. Another moment will be too late!”
But the man at the attic window paid no heed. His eyes were on the girl, who still leaned from the other window, and who was uttering scream after scream of despairing terror.
The roar of the fire, the hissing of the water, and the thud of the fire engines all made up a deafening confusion of sounds. But, through it all, Chick heard the man at the other window call out cheerfully:
“Don’t give way, Bessie! I’m coming to save you by the roof!”
“Oh, Howard! Howard!” responded the girl, shrill with horror. “My father is here, and he’s helpless!”
“Keep up your heart!” responded the man. “I’m coming!”
“Say, Patsy, she called him ‘Howard.’ Did you hear it?”
“Sure!”
“Then that looks as if he is the real thing, doesn’t it?”
But Patsy did not reply. He was wondering whether the man would reappear. He had vanished from the window, and he might have fallen back, exhausted, into the awful caldron of flame and smoke behind him.