“All right,” spoke Pep, reluctantly, turning to leave by the street entrance. He cast a last look about the place. Then he started and sniffed the air.
“Why, Randy!” he cried. “It smells like burning wood.”
“What’s that?” asked his comrade, sharply.
“Say—” and Pep’s tones seemed sharpened by alarm, “there’s smoke coming in through those windows. Worse—look! Oh, Randy, it’s fire!”
CHAPTER XI
THE HERO FRIEND
“Gracious!” cried Randy. “See! See! Flames!”
Both boys ran to the rear of the place. A puff of smoke had entered the open window of the last door. Then there came a tongue of flame—fierce, devouring—then more smoke.
Pep uttered a shrill cry—half moan, half sob. His vivid imagination depicted the splendid playhouse going up in flames. He was trembling all over as he approached the open sash. He tried to look out, but a great cloud of dense black smoke drove him back, choked and blinded.
“It’s a real blaze!” shouted Randy. He had stuck his head through a window farther from the rear. He saw that the garage was all ablaze, the flames leaping towards the rear wall of the playhouse.
In an instant Randy guessed that oil or gasoline stored in the shed had become ignited.