“Boy, you’re right,” he said curtly. “Man-size job this is going to be—big enough for all the men we can raise.” He turned to the group. “Jim, you’ve got a telephone in your house. Call up the fire department in town, and tell the chief we want all the men he can send us. He’ll know what apparatus would be of any use. And Joe Briggs!”
“Here!” said a voice.
“Joe, take my car! Go down the main road, and rout out the folks that live along it. If you can get a load of huskies, with axes and spades, turn around and bring ’em back, and have somebody else carry the call. But until you get a load, keep on stirring ’em up yourself.”
“Right-o!” replied Joe Briggs, and ran toward the little garage behind the Zorn house.
Between summer residents and workmen employed on the new buildings, the volunteer fire brigade mustered more than a score of men by the time late comers had joined the others. Altogether, it was a miscellaneously garbed party, just as it was variously equipped for the task in hand. There were men completely, if hastily, dressed; there were men in strictly emergency outfits. Some carried spades or hoes; others had axes. Half a dozen bore lanterns, the light of which revealed the odd variety in the company’s costumes and fire fighting weapons. It was evident, however, that a number knew well the business before them, and it was a very practically efficient little force which Mr. Zorn headed.
Nobody paid much attention to Step and Poke. They had given the alarm and roused the settlement, and there, seemingly, their function ended. No guide was needed to find the fire or show the way to reach it. Off marched the brigade, leaving the chums to follow as they pleased. Neither of them, though, was in haste to go. Poke, peering questioningly at Step, discovered that the latter was regarding him in the same fashion.
“Well?” It was Step who spoke, a curious note in his voice.
“Oh, I’m wondering,” said Poke.
“Same here. And same wonder, I reckon.”
“If it’s about Ed Zorn—yes.”