The Grammar School Boys of Gridley Part 29

Brave words! Young as he was, d.i.c.k Prescott was not of the kind to die a coward's death. Yet, in his own mind he was convinced that the door was too stout for him.

"You can't save us, can you?" called Mrs. Dexter's own choking tones finally.

"I'm still trying, ma'am."

"But you don't expect to succeed. Tell me the truth."

"I shan't give up, ma'am, but I am afraid that all the chances are against us!"

Bang! Bang! went d.i.c.k's shoulders against the panels. He was aching now from his hopeless exertions.

Yet, every time that he paused he heard the crackling of the flames outside. The sound told him that the woodwork had caught at last.

"d.i.c.k!"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I'm quite calm now."

"I'm glad to hear that, Mrs. Dexter."

"I've stopped thinking of myself, d.i.c.k. I know that my little Myra is asleep. She'll suffocate, and won't wake up to know any pain."

"But where's your housekeeper?"

"She must have slipped out after she put Myra to bed. There's no hope for us, d.i.c.k. We must go as bravely as we can. But, my poor boy, I can't tell you how sorry I am that helping me has brought you to such a plight."

"But you forget, Mrs. Dexter. Central will send a policeman. He will find out what's wrong here and save us."

"Don't try to comfort me with false hopes, d.i.c.k. You and I both know that the policeman can't get here in time to save us."

This had, indeed, occurred to d.i.c.k some moments before, but he wanted to help Mrs. Dexter to keep her courage up as long as possible.

"d.i.c.k," called a subdued voice, "your mother taught you to pray?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am."

"Then you know how to pray now--the last chance you'll have."

"All right, then," young Prescott shot back to her, "and I'll keep on working while I pray!"

Mrs. Dexter did not speak again. The smoke, pa.s.sing into the closet, had proved too much for her, and she had collapsed on the floor.

But d.i.c.k, naturally stronger, and with robust lungs, was still fighting bravely, though he was conscious that he was growing feebler and that air was harder to get.

Then there came to his ears two sounds of the sweetest description. The first noise was that of running feet. The second was Dave Darrin's voice shouting:

"Fellows, there's some fearful work going on here. And here's the fire!

Move like lightning! Bring water from the kitchen--in anything."

There was a sound of many running feet. Then d.i.c.k called, huskily:

"Dave, are you there?"

"d.i.c.k, where are you?"

"In this closet--locked in!"

"But there doesn't seem to be any key," quivered Darrin.

"No; Dexter took that away with him."

"Did he set this----"

"Yes; but listen! Mrs. Dexter is locked up in the closet opposite."

Dave crossed the room in a flash. Finding the key in the lock of the other closet door, Dave Darrin turned it and found Mrs. Dexter lying on the floor.

"Fellows!" bawled Dave hoa.r.s.ely. "Never mind the water. Come here--on the jump!"

Half a dozen boys ran back into the room, just in time to see Dave struggling to drag Mrs. Dexter out to the front porch.

"One of you help me," directed Darrin. "The others batter down that closet door over there. d.i.c.k Prescott is locked up there, and there is no key."

"Here's a hatchet," cried another boy, running in from the kitchen.

"Clear the way and let me at the door."

The boy was Greg Holmes. He brought the hatchet down with telling force at each blow, smashing all the paneling around the lock. In a very few moments Greg had the door open, and he and Dave helped catch d.i.c.k as the latter fell forward, dizzy and all but unconscious.

"Rush him out on to the front porch!" ordered Dave. "Then we'll come back and fight the fire!"

"Has--has anyone turned in an alarm?" inquired d.i.c.k, as he reached the porch and took in a life-saving breath of the pure, cool air.

"No," admitted Dave. "We forgot that. But I'll run and do it now."

"What's the matter? Fire?" called a man from the next yard.

"Yes," Dave yelled back. "Run and turn in an alarm, won't you?"

"I surely will," came the answer.

This left Dave free to remain and do what he could.

"I'm all right now," declared d.i.c.k, getting up out of the chair into which he had been dropped, though he was not yet any too strong. "Dave, you and the other fellows fight the fire the best you can. Greg, you come upstairs with me, and we'll find Myra and get her out of the smoke."

At the head of the stairs Prescott and Holmes found Jane, still in a faint.

"We'll need more help to get her downstairs," muttered d.i.c.k. "Greg, you find Myra, bundle her in blankets and rush down with her. I'll stay here until you come back."