And, without doubt, Hopkins was a maniac that night—at least he was afflicted with temporary insanity!
Chapter Three.
Fire!!!
“Hallo, that’ll do, man!” cried the same stalwart fireman who had seized the small boy, stepping out and laying his hand on Hopkins’s shoulder, whereabouts is it?
Hopkins heard him not. One idea had burnt itself into the poor man’s brain, and that was the duty that lay on him to ring the alarm-bell! Seeing this, the fireman seized him, and dragged him forcibly—almost lifted him—into the station, round the door of which an eager crowd had already begun to collect.
“Calm yourself,” said the stalwart fireman quietly, as he thrust Hopkins down into a chair. “Consider now. You’ll make us too late if you don’t speak. Where is it?”
“B–B–Fire!” yelled Hopkins, gasping, and glaring round him on the men, who were quietly putting on their helmets.
Hopkins suddenly burst from the grasp of his captor, and, rushing out, seized the bell-handle, which he began to pull more furiously than ever.