Chapter XIX
Fire
FOR the third and last time that evening Philip stepped upon the stage; he knew his audience now, and they knew him, and settled back to enjoy the treat which surely awaited them; and they were not disappointed. The boy threw his whole soul into his music, and the vast building might almost have been empty, so silent was the listening crowd. And then there came a moment’s pause between the movements in the music, and Philip threw back his head for an instant in a way he had; as he did so he saw something which drove the blood to his heart, for high above his head a corner of light drapery had been blown against a lighted gas-jet, and a little curling tongue of flame had just started on its way along the edge of the curtain. Philip went on at once with his playing, but as he played he stepped, almost unperceived, nearer to one side of the stage, where he knew the manager was standing, and whispered:
“Look, above your head,” and the sweet, unfaltering melody flowed smoothly on; but soon the little tongue of flame had crept around to the front of the curtain, and suddenly a strange agitation seemed to possess the audience. The people rose to their feet in evident alarm, frightened cries were heard, and some rushed from their seats into the aisles, while from some quarter came the terrible cry of “Fire!” The manager came to the front of the stage and implored the people to be calm and avoid the crowding and crushing that would result unless they left the building in an orderly way, for which he assured them there was abundant time if they would avoid a panic. For a moment they listened to his exhortation and seemed to obey, but even as he spoke the flames began to dart through the billow-like rolls of smoke that curled around the wall upon one side. Then there was an instant’s hush of dismay as the fire caught the end of some hanging drapery, and followed its festoonings, in a wild, blazing wreath, around the room, catching in its mad rush the light varnished wood trimmings, that burned like tinder. The crowd became ungovernable then, and a frightful scene of confusion ensued as they fought their way toward the entrance, defeating, in their frantic haste, the efforts of those who were cool enough to direct their movements.
Philip, while the manager was speaking, had stood with calm self-possession, revolving in his mind what was best to be done. It would have been very easy to have retreated at once through the back of the stage, but of this he did not think for an instant, and he turned towards the box where the young Nortons were sitting. It was only a few feet above the stage, and he sprang towards it, holding out his hands.
“Come,” he said, “come quickly! It is but a step; jump upon the stage and we will get out through the dressing-room. I know the way, and it is the only thing to do—the corridors are already blocked.”
Miss Acton helped the girls over the edge of the box and down upon the stage, following herself with Philip’s assistance.
“Where are the others?” he asked.
“Safe, I am sure,” replied Miss Acton, speaking quickly. “There’s a staircase near the entrance of their box.”
“Then come with me,” said Philip.