ave rung the bell until you are tired, by this time, and, besides,
the human flood has rushed on, leaving no one to whom you can explain
just how you thought you smelled fire and beat the world to the
engine-house. So you set out for the fire yourself and jog over the
half-mile in pretty fair time, considering the heat. It is an impressive
sight--not the fire itself, but the event. Two thousand, two hundred and
nine people are there--that being the population of Homeburg minus the
sick and wandering.

In the midst of the seething mass are the hose-cart and the
ladder-truck. Around them dozens of red helmets are bobbing, while the
quivering air is cut and slashed and mangled with a very hurricane of
orders: "Bring up that hose--" "Whoa, keep that horse still--" "Bring
her round this way--" "Bring her round _this_ way--" "Hey, you chumps,
the fire's _this_ side--" "Back up that wagon--" "Come ahead with the
wagon--" "Get out of here till we get a ladder up--" "Axes here--" "Turn
on that water--" "Turn on that water--" "_Turn on that water!!--_"
"Jones, go down and tell that wooden Indian to turn on that water."
"Hold that water, you--" "_Hold that water!_" "Turn her on, I say."
"Turn her--" "Wow--turn that nozzle the other way--"

And then the water comes with a mighty rush, yanking the nozzlemen this
way and that and sweeping firemen and common citizens aside as if they
were mere straws.

As a rule, this is the climax, and the end comes rapidly. By this time
Brown, who had put the fire out with a few pails of water before the
alarm sounded, has persuaded the department to call off its hose, the
barn being full of valuable hay. So there isn't anything to do. The
water is turned off. Gibb Ogle explains to the one hundred and eleventh
knot of people how he was going past the place when he saw the tongue of
flame, and every one disperses after a pleasant social time.

Everybody is tolerably well satisfied except the hook-and-ladder gang,
which, as usual, is skunked again--never got a ladder out. A couple of
the axmen had a little fun with a rear window, but otherwise the affair
is a flat failure. They go back sullenly, but are comforted when the
roll is called, when each member who was present draws a dollar from the
city treasury. As usual, Pete Sundbloom is late, and tries to edge in to
roll-call, though he was a mile away from peril, but he can't make it
stick and gets the hoarse hoot when his little game is discovered