ers. They were there to
superintend and direct. In the midst of them stood their chief,
explaining the minutiae of the work they had to do.

When our three firemen reached the drill-ground the chief was showing
his recruits how to coil several lengths of the hose, so as to avoid a
twist or "kink," which might endanger its bursting when the water was
turned suddenly on by the powerful "steamers." He then pointed to the
tall empty buildings beside him and ordered his recruits to go into the
third floor of the premises, drag up the hose, and bring the branch to
bear on the back rooms, in which fire was supposed to be raging.

"Look alive, now," he said, "see how quickly you'll manage it."

Instantly the active youths sprang to their work. Some got the hose out
of the box of an engine and uncoiled it length by length towards the
house, others screwed the lengths together at the same time that the
water-trough was being set up and the suction-pipe attached. Meanwhile,
some had run up into the building, and from an upper window let down a
rope so as to be ready to drag up the hose when it was made long enough
to reach them. Thus they practised during the forenoon the mimic
warfare with the flames which they should have to carry into actual
operation at night. In another part of the yard a foreman was
instructing some recruits in the use of the fire-escape. Under a
neighbouring archway stood a small group of idlers looking on at these
stirring operations, one of these was Philip Sparks, another was the
Bloater. The interests of the first had taken him there, the second had
been led to the scene by his affections. Sparks did not observe the
Bloater, but the Bloater being unusually sharp, had observed Sparks,
and, with a look of surprise and glee at the unexpected sight, set
himself to watch and listen.

"That's him," growled Sparks in a low whisper, pointing to Joe Dashwood
as he entered the yard.

This was said to a dark-skinned, ill-looking, powerful man who stood at
his elbow. The man nodded in reply.

"Take a good look at him, Jeff; you'll know him again?"

Jeff nodded and guessed that he would.

"Well, then, West-End; Friday, at 12 p.m. Number 5, close to the
fire-station. You won't forget?" whispered Sparks, as he and his
ill-looking friend slunk away.

"I say," observed the Bloater, poking Little Jim in the ribs, and
looking down at him with one eye shut, "you and I shall form an
engagement for Fri