“I don't know———”
“No, I guess you don't—not such a dam sight. What's the matter? What you waitin' f'r?”
“Why—when we was going around the yards, he said he guessed we wouldn't go out as fur's the Point—and I thought mebbe I'd go now, jes so's to be sure.”
“So you've took to thinkin', eh? I s'pose you was a-thinkin' you'd send me over to the fence.”
“No, I didn't mean to send you, but I thought mebbe———”
“Git along with you. You talk too much. You make me sick.” And the Inspector, with a chuckle, made slowly toward the gate, leaving the boy to his own resources.
George walked to the end of the wharf and stood a moment, debating whether to keep on along the bank or to turn in among the lumber-piles. He decided on the latter course and crowded through, with the help of his lantern, by crawling over and under the projecting ends of planks between two huge piles. This brought him into an alley that led, with one turn, to the narrow space of open ground at the end of the peninsula. He closed his lantern and felt his way along. He had nearly reached the turn, he thought, when it was suddenly revealed to him by a light flickering on the lumber. He stopped short and held his breath. The light was growing rapidly. He rushed forward around the turn—and again he stopped. A blaze that had evidently started at the base of a pile of inch stuff was now curling upward, was already half way up to the top; and it crackled ominously as it wreathed around the thin, resinous boards. Standing a little way off at the edge of the bank, looking stupidly at the fire, was the worst specimen from the land of trampdom George had ever seen. His clothing hung about him in rags, his hair and beard were grizzled and matted, his face was red; and his whole body seemed to tremble as if from a nervous affection. He looked up frantically, called out something in a husky voice and held up a blackened clay pipe, then, on an impulse, he dropped the pipe, turned and dove out into the river. There was a splash, the firelight glistened for an instant on the spray, and he had disappeared.
George remembered his whistle and blew it sharply half a dozen times His first thought was to turn back to the steamer, and he had taken a few steps when a shout told him that his signal was heard, that probably the fire could be seen now, for it was already licking at the topmost boards; and so he threw his lantern away and took a running dive off the bank.
Du Bois, walking slowly, had nearly reached the gate when he heard George's whistle. “The boy's crazy,” he muttered. “Wonder they wouldn't give us unweaned infants f'r patrol.” He looked down the centre roadway, but could see no light. However, his duty was obvious, and he turned and ran back to the wharf, growling as he went. The men were aroused on both steamers. As he passed the Number Two he saw the hands dragging out a coil of hose with the nozzle ready attached. On the upper deck of the Number One Captain Craig, with a pair of trousers hastily drawn on and his nightgown partly tucked in at the waist, was leaning on the rail and peering out over the yards. The deckhouse door was open, throwing the light on him. In the fainter light, on the main deck, MacGregor was hanging out.
“How is it, Cap'n?” he was calling.