Joe joined the running, panting throng of men and boys that now came swarming from all directions to the fire. The crew of a freight train, drawn up at the Bedford station, had come over to do what they could, and the fire-fighting force of the factory itself was busy. They had a small steamer on the premises, and lines of hose were connected to the steam pump in the boiler room. Water was soon being poured on the blaze, and when the auto-apparatus and the old-fashioned steamer arrived, they, too, were put into service.
By this time Joe’s chums had joined him.
“You beat us to it,” panted Charlie.
“Sure I did!” exclaimed Joe. “Why didn’t you fellows take a chance in the creek?”
“We didn’t want to spoil our clothes,” said Charlie.
“That’s right. It didn’t improve mine any,” admitted the young wizard, as he looked down at his sodden garments. “I expect dad will ask me to step out to the woodhouse when I get home,” Joe said grimly. He called Mr. Blackford “dad,” and, as a matter of fact, up to the time he was eight years old Joe had not appreciated the fact that “the deacon,” as he was often called, was only his foster-parent. Joe had but a hazy idea of his real father and mother, and the change at his early age failed to impress him. Later he heard the real story, however.
“Yes, I guess I’ll get a talking to, anyhow,” he went on. “But I couldn’t wait to come over the bridge. Say, she’s going some! isn’t she?”
“That’s what!” commented Tom. “Look, there goes the big building!”
The main structure, which up to now had suffered neither from explosion nor from fire, was seen to be smoking on one side. Hoarse orders came from the fire chief to play streams on that in an effort to save it, and the fire-fighters drew closer.
“Anybody hurt, did you hear?” asked Charlie of Joe.