ught up somehow, is trying to soothe her. He
is as mad as a hornet, and doesn't dare to show it. All this furniture
he had insured. It was all old stuff their folks had given them. If the
gallant fire-laddies had been as discreet as they were zealous, they
would have let the furniture go, and Swope and his wife would have had
an entire, brand-new outfit. As it is, who can ever make that junk look
like anything any more?

What's this coming up the road? Jumbo Lee and his friends with the other
hose-reel. Now they will connect it with the hydrant, and have water
a-plenty to save the house. Now the fellows are coming down from the
ladder. Cistern's empty, I suppose. The other reel didn't come any too
soon. How the roof steams! Or is it smoking?

"Don't stand around here with that reel! Up to that water-plug. Farther
up the street. Front o' Cummins's."

Jumbo crams another cracker into his mouth and speeds away, hunching the
patient, unresenting air with his elbows.

Ah! See--that little flicker of flame on the roof! Do, for pity's sake,
hurry up with that connection! The roof is really burning. See? They are
trying to chop away the burning place. But there's another! And another!

A-a-ah! Hooray-ay! Connection's made! Now you'll see something. Out of
the way there! One side! One side! Up you go!... Wha-at? Is that the
best they can do? Why, it won't run out of the nozzle at all when it's
up on the roof. Not a drop. Feeble little dribble when it's on the
ground-level. There's your water-works for you. It is a good long way
from the fire-plug I know, but there ought to be more pressure than
that. Oh, pshaw! If we only had the old hand-engine! "Up with her! Down
with her!" Have that fire out in no time. The house will have to go now.
Too bad!

Somebody in the second story is rescuing property from the devouring
element. He has just tossed out a wash-bowl and pitcher. Luckily they
both fell on the sod and rolled apart. He takes down the roller-shade
and flings it out. The lace curtains follow. They catch on the edge
of the veranda roof, and languidly wave there as for some holiday.
Bed-clothes issue and pillows hurtle out. What's he doing now? No use.
No use. You can't get the mattress out of that window. A waste-paper
basket, a rag rug, a brush and comb--as fast as his hands can fly he's
throwing out things.

The women began to whimper.

"Oh, the poor man! The roof will fall in on him! He'll smother to death!
Oh, wh