“Come back from there!” they shouted.
“Not just yet!” coolly answered Joe.
“What are you going to do?” a railroad man inquired.
“Get him!” replied Joe, briefly, as he pointed to the huddled figure lying in the low doorway up above.
“You can’t do it! That place is all on fire inside. It may go up any minute.”
“Well, I figure that I’ve got a minute to spare, and a minute is about all I want,” answered Joe calmly.
By this time he was going up the rope hand over hand, not an easy feat, but Joe seemed to make nothing of it. Now, if ever, he blessed the time he had spent in acrobatic work, in emulating the tricks of circus performers, his own mother included. Now, if ever, he was glad of his strong and supple muscles, his cool head and eyes that never faltered.
Up and up he went, hand over hand, climbing the rope like a veritable monkey, and with a skill that would have caused applause to break forth at any other than this critical time. As it was, there was a murmur of admiration for Joe’s coolness and daring. For it was a daring feat.
All this while the fighting of the fire was going on at other parts of the plant. There had been no loud explosions for some time, though small ones were constantly to be heard. And inside the factory’s flimsy buildings, most of which were in flames, could be heard the hissing and spluttering of various forms of pyrotechnics.
Up and up went Joe until in a very short time he swung in through the small door, and stood beside the prostrate man, whom some of the boys had recognized as Peter Crabb, otherwise known as Professor Rosello, the magician.