The city seemed even busier to him than New York. The people moved faster through the streets, and were apparently more absorbed in the pursuit of their various occupations. It was early autumn, and very dry, as the summer had been. Bob heard his father say that the farmers were complaining greatly of the want of rain, and when he rode out on the prairie, everything looked yellow and parched. He preferred to walk along the shore of the lake, and out to the mouth of the river, where he could see the lumber vessels coming in from Wisconsin and Michigan, and enjoy the cool breezes.
One Sunday evening, while reading, he heard the bells ring, and, like almost all boys, wanted to run to the fire. His father told him that he himself would like a walk, and that they might go a certain distance, but would probably find that the fire was extinguished. Bob remembered, however, that the wind was blowing hard when they were coming home from church, and then it suddenly occurred to him that in that absence of rain of which he had heard, the wooden buildings so common in the city must be as dry as tinder. When they turned the corner of the street, both uttered a cry of surprise. The sky was all aflame, and dense clouds of smoke, in which cinders were thickly mingled, were driven by the wind over their heads.
"I do not think that it is near my office, Bob," said his father; "but it seems a great conflagration, and we had better find out if it is likely to spread."
They walked rapidly toward one of the bridges over the Chicago River, and crossed it. As they passed on they met a gradually increasing throng, apparently fleeing from the fire and seeking a place of safety. The smoke and cinders grew more plentiful, and the sky was now lit from horizon to horizon. At last they reached the office, and Mr. Perkins opened it with his key. Everything inside was quiet and undisturbed; but he felt a strange degree of alarm, none the less acute because somewhat vague. He almost mechanically opened his safe, and stood looking at its contents, and mentally wondering whether it would preserve them in case of the advent of the flames. Even while he was thus engaged, the noise outside grew louder and louder. Crowds were heard hurrying through the street, and many were crying and shouting. Bob went to the door and opened it, only to shrink back almost in terror. The burning cinders had been blown over to the street where the office was, and the block had taken fire.
Mr. Perkins saw in a moment that his office must be destroyed, and that he had not even time to save all the contents of his safe. He hurriedly selected a few documents, wrapped them up in a paper, and gave them to Bob, telling him to carry them in his hand, and be sure not to let them pass from his possession. Then, with a caution to keep close to him, and hurriedly closing the safe, he started again for his house. They were compelled to go a long distance around, and even then reached their destination with much difficulty. Mr. Perkins, as they passed along, had carefully observed the course of the flames, and made up his mind that they would reach his house, as they had already reached his office. He proceeded at once, therefore, to send his family to the residence of some friends in the country, again cautioning Bob about the parcel of papers. Then he called some men to his aid, took as much furniture as possible out of his house, and sent it in carts to one of the parks. As the last cart started, the flames caught the eaves, and he looked back to see them enveloping what had been a pleasant home. There was no time for regrets; he only hurried his driver along, hoping that he would reach a place where his effects would be secure. All in vain: he saw them consumed in their turn, and he was finally compelled to seek protection himself under a bridge, where he passed the rest of that terrible night. In the morning he joined his family at the house whither they had gone. The calamity which had happened was so great that none of them quite realized it. In a few hours not only had their beautiful city been laid in ashes, but their pretty home, Mr. Perkins's place of business, and much of their property had been likewise destroyed.
"Well," at last remarked Mr. Perkins, "I am glad of one thing. I secured a good many valuable mortgages, railroad bonds, and notes of hand, and wrapped them in a package, and gave them to my careful Bob to keep, and I know that he has them now."
"Yes, papa," cried Bob, with a glowing face. "The parcel never left my hands except for a few minutes, when I laid it on the piano while I was helping mamma put her jewels in a bag. Here it is;" and he handed his father a paper parcel. Mr. Perkins opened it, and took out—half a dozen sandwiches![3] To such a state of excitement had the terrible events of the night brought every one that poor Bob never knew when he exchanged the precious bundle of documents for the parcel of provisions which his thoughtful mother had put up.
Bob staid in Chicago, which, as every one knows, has been rebuilt, and is handsomer than ever. Perhaps his name can be found in the directory; but if any one should meet him who has read this story, it would be well not to allude to either parcels or sandwiches.