But Sandy Steele kept on running up the passageway, and Jerry could not believe what he saw. Then, when Sandy disappeared into the cabin where Cookie had been placed, Jerry understood. “Good old Sandy,” he said proudly, and then he whirled and dashed down the passageway in the other direction—hunting for a fire extinguisher.
Cookie was half out of his bunk when Sandy rushed through the opened door. The little man had heard Mr. Briggs’s shout, and he had immediately dragged himself from his pillows. He was going to help put out the fire!
But he was too weak to get very far, and he lay half in, half out of his bed, panting, when Sandy burst in on him.
“Quick, Cookie!” Sandy said. “The galley’s on fire.”
“I know, boy,” Cookie gasped. “I heard the mate.” His eyes were sad as he gazed at Sandy. “How could you do it, Sandy?”
“I didn’t!” Sandy gritted between clenched teeth, as he stooped to wrap blankets around Cookie, before coming erect in the fireman’s carry.
“But the mate said—”
“He did it, not us!” Sandy replied. “Come on, Cookie—there’s no time for explanations.”
Gently supporting the little man on his right shoulder, Sandy hurried from the room. He took him to the cabin farthest from the blaze. Once inside, he placed Cookie on the bunk. The weakened little man looked around him in astonishment.
“This is the mate’s quarters,” he burst out. “You can’t put me in here, boy.”