Startled, thrown into sudden consternation by this turn of events, Florence, without intending it at all, swung the hose about and the stream sent Tony plunging after his pal.
Then, like some creature that has done its work swiftly and well, the pump coughed twice, and lapsed into silence. Above this silence there rose a low laugh. It ran all down the line of boys and all the way back again.
Taking advantage of the situation, Florence exclaimed, “Boys, we have pumps. You all have homes. If they were in danger, you’d save them if you could. You’ve got to help save this home now! Get those boxes open. Quick. Fill the tanks. Turn ’em over. If half the pumps work, we’ll win!”
Catching the spirit of the moment thirty boys leaped into action. In the shortest imaginable time five pumps were coughing and sneezing like five bull moose come up for air.
“This,” Florence thought, with a sudden touch of despair, “is all right. But how shall we reach the fire?” Her eyes fell upon a dozen gasoline barrels piled neatly by the dock house.
“Quick!” she exclaimed. “Cut two holes in the top of each barrel. Then roll four up the ridge, each about forty feet from the next one.”
Though they did not understand why, the boys followed her directions. When this was done, she said, “Now! Two of you to a pump. Take them up to the barrels!”
“Bu-but, Miss, we don’t understand,” said the small, timid boy.
“There’s little time for explaining,” Florence snapped. “But this is the idea, each pump will throw water thirty or forty feet.”
“Yea, yea,” they agreed, “but it’s a hundred and fifty to the top of that first ridge.”