Moxey and Williams ran back, and carried him out of danger. Then, seeing that he did not recover consciousness, although he breathed, they carried him at once to the hospital. The flames of the burning house sprang up, just then, as if they leaped in triumph over a fallen foe; but the polished surface of poor Joe’s helmet seemed to flash back defiance at the flames as they bore him away.
After the partition wall fell, the fire sank, and in the course of a few hours it was extinguished altogether. But nothing whatever was saved, and the firemen had only the satisfaction of knowing that they had done their best, and had preserved the adjoining houses, which would certainly have gone, but for their untiring energy.
By this time, David Boone, besides being mad, was in a raging fever. The tenant of the house to which he had been taken was a friend, as well as a neighbour of his own—a greengrocer, named Mrs Craw, and she turned out to be a good Samaritan, for she insisted on keeping Boone in her house, and nursing him; asserting stoutly, and with a very red face (she almost always asserted things stoutly, and with a red face), that Mister Boone was one of ’er best an’ holdest friends, as she wouldn’t see ’im go to a hospital on charity—which she despised, so she did—as long as there was a spare bed in her ’ouse, so there was—which it wasn’t as long as could be wished, considerin’ Mister Boone’s height; but that could be put right by knocking out the foot-board, and two cheers, so it could—and as long she had one copper to rub on another; no, though she was to be flayed alive for her hospitality. By which round statement, Mrs Craw was understood to imply a severe rebuke to Mrs Grab—another greengrocer over the way (and a widow)—who had been heard to say, during the progress of the fire, that it served Boone right, and that she wouldn’t give him a helping hand in his distress on any account whatever.
Why Mrs Grab was so bitter and Mrs Craw so humane is a matter of uncertainty; but it was generally believed that the former having had a matrimonial eye on Boone, and that Boone having expressed general objections to matrimony—besides having gone of late to Mrs Craw for his vegetables—had something to do with it.
Next day, D. Gorman happened, quite in a casual way of course, to saunter into Poorthing Lane; and it was positively interesting to note—as many people did note—the surprise and consternation with which he received the news of the fire from the people at the end of the lane who first met him, and who knew him well.
“Wery sad, ain’t it, sir?” said a sympathetic barber. “He was sitch a droll dog too. He’ll be quite a loss to the neighbourhood; won’t he, sir?”
“I hope he won’t,” said Gorman, loud enough to be heard by several persons who lounged about their doors. “I hope to see him start afresh, an’ git on better than ever, poor fellow; at least, I’ll do all I can to help him.”
“Ah! you’ve helped him already, sir, more than once, I believe; at least so he told me,” said the barber, with an approving nod.
“Well, so I have,” returned Gorman modestly, “but he may be assured that any trifle he owes me won’t be called for just now. In fact, my small loan to him is an old debt, which I might have got any time these last six years, when he was flourishing; so I’m not going to press him now, poor fellow. He’s ill, you say?”
“Yes, so I’m told; raither serious too.”