“Stand back, ye ruffian, or Ah’ll strangle ye when Ah get ma hands on ye! Stand ye there, Mr. Sartwell, an’ catch them when Ah throw them t’ ye. The women first. Fling them down past the turn o’ the stair an’ they’ll be safe. Stand ye there; Ah’ll be at the door this minute. We’ll have them all out in a jiffy.”
While he shouted Braunt tore his way through the crowd, and at last reached the knot in the jam where further progress was impossible. Here he stood, and by the simple power of his arms lifted girl after girl straight up, and hurled them over the heads of those in front into Sartwell’s arms, who pushed them on down the stairs.
“For God’s sake, Scimmins,” cried Sartwell, who from his position could see the fear-demented man pressing the crowd on Braunt and hampering him, “be a man, and stand back! Don’t fight! There’s time for all to get out.”
“Ah’ll crack your skull for ye!” shouted Braunt hoarsely, over his shoulder. “Remember ye’ve to pass me before ye get to the stair, an’ little good your fightin’ ’ill do ye.”
At last the knot dissolved, as a long jam on a river suddenly gives way when the key-log is removed. Braunt stood now with his back against the door-post, while Sartwell took his place at the turn of the stairs, strenuously flinging torn and ragged items of humanity into safety. Several of those who had been at the point of the wedge lay at his feet, senseless or dead—there was no time to discover which. Now and then a girl he hurled down the stair tottered, fell, and lay where she fell.
“Why doesn’t some one come to carry those women out?” groaned the manager, who had asked one after another whom he had saved to send help to him.
At last two of his men appeared.
“It’s a bad fire, Mr. Sartwell,” said one.
“Yes, yes, I know. Take down two each, if you can, and send up more men. Tell the clerks to see that the iron doors between the buildings are closed. Are the firemen here?”
“Five engines, sir.”