own," cried one boy. "If it burns up it
won't be much loss."

"And it _will_ burn before the fire department gets here," said one of
the girls.

"Poor Seneca! I expect his poor possessions are treasures to him," said
Ruth.

"Cracky!" ejaculated Neale, suddenly, as the flames mounted higher.
"What about the poor old duffer's books?"

"Oh, Neale!" gasped Ruth. "And they mean so much to him."

"Pshaw!" observed one of the other boys. "They're not really worth
anything, are they?"

"Whether they are or not, they are valuable to Seneca," Ruth repeated.

"Well, goodness!" was the ejaculation of a third boy. "I wouldn't risk
going into that shack if they were worth a million. See! the whole end
of it is ablaze!"

CHAPTER XX

NEALE'S ENDLESS CHAIN

Skaters from both up and down the river augmented the crowd of
spectators gathered along the shore to watch the fire. The fire-bells
were clanging uptown, but as yet the first machine had not appeared. The
firemen would have to attack the blaze from the street end of the dock,
anyway.

"Father's got goods stored in the shed," said Clarence Bimberg, "and
they'll try to save them. I guess Seneca's old shack will have to go."

"And all those books you told us about, Neale," Agnes cried.

"Wish I could get 'em out for him!" declared the generous boy.

"Pshaw! I can tell you how to do it. But you wouldn't dare," chuckled
Clarence.

"How?" demanded Neale.

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Well--mebbe not. But tell me anyhow."

"There's an old trap-door in the dock under that office-shack."

"You don't mean it, Clarry?"

"Yes, there is. I know it's there. But it mightn't be open now--I mean
maybe it's nailed down. I don't believe Seneca knows it's there. The
boards just match."

"Let's try it!" exclaimed Neale.

"Oh, Neale, you wouldn't!" gasped Agnes, who had heard the conversation.

"Of course he wouldn't," scoffed Clarence. "He's only bluffing. Father
used to let us play around the old shack before Seneca got it to live
in. And I found the trap. But I never said anything about it."

Neale looked serious, but he said: "Just show me how to reach it,
Clarry."

"Why," said Clarence, "the ice is solid underneath the wharf. You can
see it is. Skate right under, if you want," and he laughed again,
believing Neale in fun.

"Show me," said the white-haired boy.

"Not much I won't! Why, the wharf boards are afire already, and the
sparks will soon be raining down