“Yes,” he smiled, “it’ll soon be over now. But,” he added, “we wouldn’t have saved the monkeys if it hadn’t been for Jerry. He’s a wise little rascal.”
“Jerry and—and that man,” said Mazie.
“Yes; old Pinkie.”
“Who is he? Do you know him?” Mazie asked eagerly.
“No, Miss, I can’t just say I know him, but all of us have seen him often. Regular fire fan. Seems like he goes to every fire that’s of any consequence. He’s a queer one. Seems to have a heart of gold, though. I’ve seen him risk his life to save an alley cat.”
“Then he couldn’t be—” Mazie suddenly cut herself short.
“Couldn’t be what, Miss?”
Mazie didn’t answer. “How long have you seen him around fires?” she asked instead.
“Seems like it’s been three years or more. I recall the first time. It was——”
“Oh! Look!” Mazie’s eyes opened wide with terror. And well they might. A tall chimney, undermined by the fire, had come crashing down through the roof. It had not stopped at the roof but had come on through, crushing an iron cage where were imprisoned two royal Bengal tigers. So thoroughly mashed was the cage that it resembled a bird cage which has been stepped on by a large man.