Scotter went up the escape, bending his head to dodge flames that were darting out from the second floor; up again, and disappeared. There was a crash there of something falling in; the helmeted men below gave a low whistle. That settled poor Scotter’s game of billiards. That relieved him of any difficulty of knowing what to do with plain white and the red left in baulk. That meant a rare old scene later on, with Scotty’s sweetheart coming round to the station.
“Another man up!” ordered the Superintendent.
The second was half-way up, and had been drenched by error, when Scotter reappeared at the top window. He had the baby in a shawl that was tied at his neck; in the left arm he carried a limp little girl; the crowd in the street roared “Hip-pip—hooray!” and Mrs. Mather cried warningly, “Don’t stay up there; come down!”
“That makes your little lot complete, then,” remarked the Superintendent.
“They’re all here now,” conceded the lady. “How I come to overlook the fact that there was one short is more than I can tell you. I’m sure it’s very kind of this gentleman. When baby’s old enough he must thank him.”
“You all right, Scotter?”
“Yes, thank you, sir. Bit singed, but nothing to brag about.”
The crowd lost all its good spirits so soon as the first engine was sent home, and folk told each other regretfully that there were no fires now as in the old days. The waiting horses had recovered breath and began to caper about to impress the crowd with a sense of their importance. People to whom news had come tardily ran up from Clerkenwell Road demanding to know the whereabouts of the fire, and, being told it was out, censured the County Council, their informants, and themselves. Two firemen were selected to remain in charge; the others, dusting knees and rubbing knuckles into eyes, waited for orders.
“Get off back, you lot. Scotter, you did uncommonly well. Just given your name to some newspaper men. Married man? Not yet? I was going to say, if you were, your missus would be proud of you.”
The pace was good on the return journey, but not frantic, and Scotter was told by a dozen experts what to do to the burn on his left wrist. At the station they assisted him in the task of washing, and made a neat bandage; over cups of tea they went through the details of the fire, and extinguished it again. A move was made to the billiard-room.