Round the Corner in Gay Street Part 4

"She wants to get acquainted. I don't blame her. They 're the dullest lot over there. There seems to be one stirabout--the good-looking chap who 's off on horseback every day. But the other son 's a paleface, and the daughter--hum--well----" Peter's pause was eloquent. "I think she's---- h.e.l.lo! What's that?"

He had looked over at the big house as he spoke of its inmates, and his eye had been caught by an appearance which struck him as unusual. The house was dimly lighted everywhere, but in one room, the upper one with the semicircular window, there was an effect of brilliancy of a ruddier color than is ordinarily produced by electric lights. As Peter and Jane now stared at it, it seemed to grow in intensity, and there showed a wavering and flashing of this singular light which looked suspiciously like fire.

"Do you suppose there can be anything wrong?" speculated Peter, anxiously. "Of course a fire of c.o.ke or cannel in a fireplace might give that effect, through those thin curtains, but we--haven't seen--anything like it--before--and--By George!" as the light flared more ruddily than ever for an instant and then grew dull again, "I believe there _is_ trouble there! Anyhow, I 'll run over and find out!

They can't blame me for that."

He was starting off at a run when Jane darted after him. "I 'm sure I saw flames jump up, Pete!" she called, excitedly. "The window's open, and the curtain blew to one side. Oh, hurry! Most of them are away; I saw them drive off an hour ago."

She was running at Peter's side, fleet of foot as he. Her mind had leaped to the youngest member of the unknown household, the one who did not drive away after nightfall to dinners and parties, like the others.

Only that day she had met Shirley and exchanged with her the few bright words the little girl seemed to welcome so eagerly. They ran up the steps of the great portico, with its stately columns, and hurrying across it, came to a partly opened door. Peter rang the bell, peering impatiently through the vestibule into the large, square, half-lighted interior. "I 'll wait just one minute for an answer," he said with his foot on the threshold, "and then I 'll be up that gorgeous staircase back there."

Jane put her head in at the door. "I smell smoke!" she breathed, and Peter pushed past her. Delaying no longer, he ran across the hall and up the staircase, closely followed by Jane.

As he reached the top, a little white-clad figure ran screaming toward him. He rushed by, but Jane, at his heels, caught the little girl up in her arms.

"There, there, darling," she soothed the frightened, sobbing child, "you 're all safe! Peter will take care of the fire. Are they all away?

There, don't be frightened, dear!"

Over Shirley's head Jane saw Peter vanish through a doorway--beyond which she could see a ma.s.s of smoke and flame--slam down a window, and dash out again, closing the door behind him. Then he was off down the stairs, shouting for help as he went, and getting no response from any quarter of the strangely deserted house.

"Take her away!" he called back to Jane, as he ran, and Jane attempted to obey.

"Where are your clothes, dear?" she asked the child in her arms, but could get no coherent answer.

She looked about her, and carrying Shirley, who was slender and as light of weight as a much younger child, soon discovered the little girl's room. She caught up the pile of clothes on a chair, and attempted to dress her charge. But Shirley only cried and clung. Jane pulled a silken blanket from the little bra.s.s bed, and wrapping the child in it, and rolling her clothes into a bundle, which she tucked under one arm, carried her downstairs and into a small reception-room near the front entrance.

Peter, dashing through the silent house toward the rear, hoping to come upon a man-servant somewhere, was met at last by a startled maid.

"A room upstairs is on fire," he said. "Any men here to help me put it out? If there are n't I must send in an alarm. Any fire-extinguishers about?"

The girl's wits scattered at the news, but she managed to recall the fact that the coachman must be at the stable again by this time, and flew to call him. Peter ran back to keep track of events. He saw that the walls were heavy, that the fire was thus far confined to the one room, and that if help came speedily it would not be necessary to call out the fire department, an expedient to be avoided, he felt sure, unless the danger to the house was greater than he thought.

But the frightened maid forestalled him in this plan. She ran to the telephone and sent in the alarm herself, although in the confusion of her fright she lost some minutes in getting the message properly reported. Meanwhile, the coachman having arrived to aid Peter, bringing with him the apparatus kept in the stables for the purpose of extinguishing fire, the two were soon successfully fighting the flames without further aid.

Shirley, downstairs, was still trembling in Jane's arms, and incoherently crying for her brother Murray, who, she insisted, had not gone out with the others that evening, but had been reading in the room which was now on fire. At that moment Murray himself came limping in at the open door. The maid met him at the threshold.

"O Mr. Murray," she began--and Jane, in the reception-room, heard her--"the house is on fire, and----"

"What? Where? Where's Shirley? Who's----"

Jane, with the child in her arms, appeared at the door of the reception-room. "She 's here--quite safe," she said; and with an exclamation, Murray came anxiously toward the two. Then he paused and looked up the staircase, for through the distant closed door upstairs could be heard the sounds of voices, shouting directions. The maid was beginning an excited explanation when Jane interrupted her:

"My brother is here, and he and your coachman are putting it out, I 'm sure."

"Has anybody sent in an alarm?"

"I did," said the maid. "The young man told me not to, but how did he know he could put it out? And the master 'd be blamin' me----"

"We don't want the firemen here if we don't need them," Murray was beginning, when the distant and familiar clang of a gong stopped the words upon his lips. In a moment more it became evident that a fire-engine and its train were upon them. Murray turned away, and started hurriedly up the stairs.

At the approaching noises, which to the delicate child had always been peculiarly terrifying, little Shirley began to cry afresh. Jane gathered her up with an air of determination.

"I'm going to take her to our house across the street," she said to the maid. "There's no need of her staying here to be so frightened."

The girl made no remonstrance. She was too excited to do more than bewail the absence of the other servants, and the misfortune of her having been left alone in charge. "I 'd just stepped out of the door a minute, miss," she explained, "to speak to a friend of mine that was pa.s.sing. 'T was a mercy I left the door open, or the young gentleman couldn't have----. There's the gong!--There 's the fire-engine!--Oh, my--but look at the crowd comin' after 'em!"

"Show me a side door where I can slip out, please," requested Jane hurriedly, and the maid obeyed.

As the firemen ran in at the front door, Jane, with Shirley in her arms, hurried out at a low side entrance, from which a path through the shrubbery led to a gateway in the high hedge next the street.

As she reached her own porch, the rest of her family came rushing out, having heard the commotion in the street. She almost ran into Nancy who stopped abruptly to stare at Jane's burden.

"Come back into the house with me, Nan," said Jane, quickly. "Here 's our frightened little neighbour. The fire will soon be out, but I thought she'd be happier over here, for the family are all away."

In the house she put Shirley down upon the couch in the front room, and the child, staring up, her big eyes full of tears and fright, beheld the face of the girl she had so longed to know smiling down at her.

"This is splendid!" said Nancy Bell. "I've wanted to know you like everything, and now I 've got you right here in my own house. Won't you let me help you get dressed? I 'd love to."

Seeing that Nancy would be better for the shy little visitor than any number of older persons, Jane left the two together, and went out to see what was happening.

It was very little. The fire-engine was already turning to leave, the driver grumbling at a needless alarm. "All out!" a voice was shouting, and the crowd was reluctantly pausing upon the edge of the lawn, disappointed that no further excitement was to be had. Upstairs the firemen had found the fire subdued to a mere dying smother of smoke, the efficient chemical having made quick work of the blaze, which had not had time to attack the walls of the room, but had been confined to its furnishings.

Peter, his hands and clothes grimy, made light of the affair to Murray, who was looking in at the ruin of the room.

"I took a few liberties with your front door," Peter said, "finding it open and no one about. Oh, no, it hadn't much headway; I saw that when I decided not to call out the department. It was quite a blaze, but mostly the light stuff about. It must have caught from the curtains blowing into that student-lamp."

"That's my fault," Murray owned. "I hate electric lights to read by, so I lighted that lamp here. I was reading, but the room began to feel stuffy, and I opened the window. It looked so pleasant outside I thought I 'd take a turn round the square. I 'm not a fast walker"--he glanced at his lame leg--"and I was probably at the other side of the square when you came in. Look here, you must have been mighty quick to take in the situation, for I couldn't have been away over five minutes when you saw the blaze."

"My sister and I happened to be standing out on our porch--you see, we live just round the corner in Gay Street--about opposite these windows here----"

"I know," Murray nodded. "I 've seen you."

"We thought at first it was a cannel-coal fire--you know how they flash with a red light. But when we suspected, we just ran across. I hope your little sister wasn't too badly frightened?"

"Her room's next to this. Poor child, she _was_ frightened. I deserve a thrashing, you know, for my carelessness. Every one of the family is out, and all the servants except my mother's maid. It was very kind of your sister to take Shirley in charge. She's downstairs with her now."

"Will your people be getting news of the fire-alarm and be frightened?"

Peter asked, putting on his coat.

"I don't think so. Father and mother are out of town at a dinner, and my sister's at a party in a country house. They won't be likely to hear. I don't know where my brother is. Don't go. Must you? I--you know I'm awfully obliged to you for this----"

"It's nothing. Glad I happened to be on hand," and Peter would have said good night and run down the stairs, but he saw that his host meant to go down with him. So he descended slowly, keeping pace with the other's halting steps, and talking with him as he went.

"Your sister was here when I came in," said Murray, glancing into the small reception-room. The maid, who had been watching the departure of the crowd from the window of this room, turned to him.

"The young lady took Miss Shirley home with her," she explained. "I was that fl.u.s.tered I let her go without so much as asking you, Mr. Murray, but----"

"It's all right," Murray put in, hastily. "It was just the thing to do, the child was so scared. If they 're at your house, I 'll just step over there with you, if you don't mind."