The sound of the clamorous siren affected Hervey strangely, as if a flood light had been thrown upon him. He stood in the dark field, unable to budge. Then he got hold of himself and ran desperately. As he glanced hurriedly back, he saw lights reappearing in the houses where sleep had reigned. Then he heard in the distance the piercing gong of the speeding engines. He could see the luminous headlights advancing along the sweeping curve of that runaway street. For just a moment they shimmered up the frog pool along the distant road and, looking back, Hervey saw clearly the familiar little spot with the willow tree overhanging it. Then he heard voices, thin and spent in the distance.
He did not pause nor turn again, but ran with all his might and main till he reached Main Street where he found it strangely difficult to walk with a leisurely air of unconcern. A man whom he passed turned and glanced at him and he was seized with a momentary terror. He passed some boys running to the fire. He liked fires, real fires, and in different circumstances it would have been his delight to join them. He would have been able to sneak inside the fire lines and have an advantage over other boys.
Even Hervey, who had no sense of values, was vaguely conscious now of the lack of proportion in this whole affair. To do so much at the idle behest of a dubious chance acquaintance! And to what end? To prove what—and why? There was no rhyme nor reason in the thing. Hervey was of course, incapable of formulating these thoughts. The nearest he got was just to feel silly. He was not naturally mischievous, much less vicious. But he could not take a dare. Alas for all the fine spirit and energy that went to waste!
And here was the anti-climax of the whole crazy business. His challenger was not waiting for him in the parking space. There was no triumph, no “Well, what do you say now?” There was no gloating over the humbled dare giver. He had gone away. Evidently he had no sporting interest in the matter at all. Hervey had thought to give the genius of the “hot tamale” a chance to purge his soul of shame by letting him treat to ice cream sodas. But our hero was not permitted flauntingly to enjoy his triumph. Therein lay the only “kick” in the enterprise. It was reduced now to the level of a mischievous prank. No achievement, no victory, no public recognition. No recognition even from a young tough who meant just nothing at all in Hervey’s young life.
Well, there you have Hervey Willetts.
CHAPTER VIII
SAFETY IN SILENCE
But there was a triumph, though it was not Hervey’s. The daredevil had not even the doubtful glory suggested by that name. He was just a dupe. The next afternoon the Farrelton Call bore the following glaring headline on its usually modest front page:
DARING ROBBERY AT FIRE HOUSE
THIEVES BREAK INTO SAFE AND TAKE CARNIVAL
FUND AMOUNTING TO FOUR HUNDRED DOLLARS