“If they’d only hurry!” he gasped. “I can’t stand this!”
Pep was obliged to stand to one side as the end of the garage was now a mass of flames. The wooden wall of the playhouse would smoulder, then it would blaze up. All Pep could do was to play the stream of water against this.
A great uproar rang through the vacant space alongside the garage shed. Amid shouts and orders the groups crowding from the rear doors of the surrounding buildings drew back, as a dozen helmeted firemen came dragging a hose through one of the stores. Pep sprang out of the way as a great rush of water came shooting from a nozzle. It drenched him from head to foot and almost carried him off his feet. Then the stream was steadied and played upon the burning shed.
Pep continued his efforts against the playhouse wall. He felt a thrill of hope as the dousing extinguished the blazing timbers and they did not relight. For two seconds the big hose was played across the wall. This dashed out farther danger to the playhouse and the firemen began to fight the blaze in the garage shed.
“It’s safe—it won’t burn!” quavered Pep. “And that boy—he did it! You brave fellow!” he cried, running up to the strange lad.
The latter had by this time gotten to his feet. While he rubbed his eyes, supporting himself by leaning against the show building, he swayed to and fro. In his excitement and gratitude Pep put his arms around him and almost hugged him.
The strange boy gazed at Pep blinkingly. Then rubbing the cinders from his eyes he took in the scene about him. He uttered a glad cry.
“The theatre’s all right; isn’t it?” he asked. “That’s all I care for.”
“What?” stammered Pep, opening his eyes wide at this manifestation of interest in the Standard.
“Yes, you see I know the fellows who own it. They’re friends of mine—that is, I hope they are.”