“Nothing doing,” spoke Blake. “You should have left your machine here, to show that the pedestal was occupied. I don’t believe you were here, and as I’m here first I’m going to stay!”
“Oh, you are; eh? We’ll see about that!” cried Munson, as he worked his way through the crowd, carrying his camera with him.
Blake thought little more about the fellow, for he was too much occupied in getting views of the burning building, and the thrilling rescues that were made from time to time. Firemen went rapidly up, from window to window, by means of the hooked scaling ladders, leaping into the burning building in search of persons in danger.
Other firemen carried down unconscious forms, and still others were engaged in the less spectacular work of handling the hose, with its powerful streams of water.
All these scenes Blake was getting on the sensitive celluloid film, and he was congratulating himself on his success, when a voice in authority called to him:
“Say, young fellow, have you got a fire badge, or permit?”
“Why, no,” answered Blake, slowly, as he continued to grind away at the crank. “I left it home, I guess.” He and Joe both had permits, entitling them to go within the fire lines, but they had not taken them away on their vacation.
“You’ll have to come down out of that,” went on the voice of the policeman who had challenged Blake. And the youth, looking down, saw, beside the guardian of the peace, the mean, sneering face of Munson. It was he, evidently, who had suggested to the police officer that he oust Blake from his place.
“Can’t you overlook it this once?” asked Blake, eagerly, for the fire was getting worse now, and he knew it would show up well on the films. If he had to leave his place he could not get another as good, and would miss some thrilling scenes.
“Come on down!” ordered the officer. “You can’t stay there without a badge, or a permit, and and you haven’t got either. Get down, I tell you!”