The ravening flames poured toward them, clutching at them with greedy arms. A form darkened the window and a voice cried:
“Lift him out! Easy! That’s right; can you get down?”
“I—I think so,” muttered Dick, fighting down the desire to let himself go and fall in a heap across the sill.
“Get onto the ladder, quick, and stay there! I’ll get you out of here in a second. Here, Gus, take this chap; I guess he’s fainted.” The fireman lowered himself down a few rungs, clutching Taylor’s limp form, and Dick squirmed unsteadily onto the ladder. There he held tightly and closed his eyes. The room was red with roaring, seething flames, but to him it seemed all a vast darkness. From below—or was it not rather from miles away?—came a long cheer; died away; increased again. And then Dick felt arms about him.
“Keep your head now, sir, and put your arms around my neck.” Dick obeyed as in a dream. He felt himself descending—down—down—down——
And then his head fell forward and he fainted.
When he opened his eyes he found himself lying on the grass across the village street. The world was very strange, crimson and yellow, and the trees threw great wavering shadows against the sky above. Some one was holding something to his lips, and he drank because that seemed the natural thing to do. Then a recollection of it all came back, and he tried to sit up.
“Lie still,” said a voice. Dick looked. It was Malcolm Kirk. And beside him was Trevor, looking absurdly like a red Indian in the queer light. And there was Professor Longworth, and somebody he didn’t know, and, oh, lots of other persons! It was really very silly for them to all stand around like that, and——
“Where’s Taylor?” he asked suddenly in a voice that caused him to wonder whether it was really his, so weak and husky was it.
“Taylor’s all right,” answered Kirk cheerfully. “They’ve taken him to Hamment’s. How do you feel now?”