“Pull away from the fence!” Jimmie commanded. Biff obeyed. “Now—head her toward the fence and ram through!”
“What’s the good of going in? The two of us can’t put it out! And the trucks are here.” Biff said that—but he pulled away. He glanced at Jimmie’s face, grinned tightly, wound up his window, and stepped on the gas. The car shifted its gears.
“Hold on!” he said sharply. They hit the fence. It shuddered, slowed them, and peeled back. Then they were inside. “Over there,” Jimmie directed. “Okay! Stop!”
Jimmie leaped from the car. They were alone, at one end of the cluster of buildings. The heat was painfully perceptible; the light was blinding. Now, from time to time, minor explosions threw into the air showers of colored flame, and, with each blast, the crowd roared as if the spectacle were deliberate. Jimmie walked toward the heat. Biff followed, keeping the car at his brother’s side. He opened the window again and yelled, “Better not go closer! You’re going to make me spoil the finish on this boiler!”
Jimmie ignored him. He shaded his eyes with his hand as he proceeded for a few more steps. Then he whipped off his jacket and held it in front of his head.
“Come back!” Biff yelled again. “You can fry an egg on the damn’ windshield!”
Now, Jimmie came over to the car. He, too, shouted, for the night was alive with noise. “Just wanted to get the lay of things! To see what’s burning! They can save most of it—if they know their stuff. But if it ever gets in the turps or the benzine—! I’ll tell the firemen what to do.”
“ You’ll tell ’em!” Biff’s voice was sarcastic.
“Sure! Jackass! I know what’s where—and how it’ll burn! Come on!”
They drove past the blinding light and through the heat, fast. When they approached the nearest of the red trucks a fireman waved them back. Jimmie hopped out and asked for the chief. The man said that it was the chief’s night off.