It was in vain that I strove to interest our family with vivid descriptions of how we jumped Red Rover Three, how we washed Cataract Eight, and how we saved Mr. Glidden's property. I suppose they were deficient in imagination; they could realize nothing but what was before them, visible to the physical eye; their minds continually reverted to the comparatively unimportant question as to how my clothes came to be in so dreadful a condition. As if 'twas any fault of mine that Big Six's hose burst, or as if I could have known that it would burst at that particular spot where Phaeton and I were standing.
The only variation from this one-stringed harp was when they labored ingeniously to make it appear that the jumping, the washing, and the saving would all have been done quite as effectually if I had been snug in bed at home.
Phaeton came over to tell me that Ned was missing.
"I don't wonder that we didn't happen to run across him in that big crowd," said he; "but I shouldn't think he'd stay so long as this. Do you suppose anything can have happened to him?"
"What could happen?" said I.
"He may have taken an axe, and ventured too far into some of the burning buildings," said Phaeton.
"No," said I, after a moment's consideration; "that wouldn't be like Ned. He might be very enthusiastic about taking care of the fire, but he wouldn't forget to take care of himself. However, I'll go with you to look for him."
As we went up the street, we came upon Patsy Rafferty and Teddy Dwyer, pushing Phaeton's car before them, with Jimmy the Rhymer in it. They were taking him out to see what remained of the fire. Jimmy said he was getting well rapidly, and expected soon to be about again on his own legs.
His parents never knew who paid the doctor's bill, but thought it must have been the unknown gentleman who was calling him to come across the street when he was run over.
A few rods farther on, we met Ned Rogers walking toward home.