Larry Barlow's ambition

It must be confessed that Larry was startled over what he heard.

Was it possible that kind-hearted Richard Vern was in league with these men, whose very looks betokened them to be rascals?

“It can’t be possible!” he muttered. “And yet, why would this villain drag his name into the talk if there wasn’t something in it?”

“Richard Vern?” repeated Check Sluggers. “I don’t know him.”

“He is a very rich man and I know him very well,” answered Martin Pollox. “Fact is, his wife and my former wife were related. He’s alone in the world, but for one child, a girl of fourteen, and if I can handle him rightly I’ll make a big thing of this.”

“Then there ain’t no money for me now?” grunted Check Sluggers, who thought more of immediate benefits than of the future, no matter how rosy looking.

“I’ll give you twenty dollars, Check—as an evidence of good faith.”

The money was passed over, and then the pair began a long talk over some business affairs which our hero did not understand. It was evident, however, that Martin Pollox was connected with several manufacturing companies, all of which, however, were more or less in financial difficulties. More than that, it came out that he owned several patents on elevator connections, steam hoists and extension ladders.

“Gracious, I wouldn’t want such a rascal to get hold of my new extension ladder,” mused our hero. “He’d cheat me out of every cent that was coming to me, that’s certain.”

Half an hour later Ann Sluggers came in, much the worse for liquor, and began to abuse her husband roundly.

At once Martin Pollox started to go.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Check,” he said.

“All right,” answered Sluggers, and then turned to quiet his wife.

As soon as Martin Pollox started to leave, Larry prepared to follow the man.

He had nothing else to do, and he did not feel like going to the hotel at which he had put up so early, for it was not yet dark.

“Perhaps I’ll gain another clew concerning father’s invention,” he told himself.

Down in the street there was now a good-sized crowd, for people were beginning to come home from work.

In this crowd he had all he could do to keep in sight of Martin Pollox, and in fear of losing him kept fairly close to his man.

But at a corner Martin Pollox hopped aboard a swiftly moving surface car and in a twinkle was beyond our hero’s reach. Larry ran after the car for a block, and then had to give it up.

“Pshaw! I wouldn’t make any kind of a detective,” Larry told himself. “How easily he got away from me!”

After walking on for several blocks our hero came to an engine house in front of which several of the firemen were sitting, in easy-chairs leaned up against the building.

Anxious to gain a little more information about the fire department, our hero lounged up and began a conversation with one of the firemen, who proved to be a nice chap, named Oscar Harwell.

While at the engine house the alarm rang.

“Why don’t you start out?” questioned Larry.

“It isn’t in our district. We won’t go unless we get a second alarm.”

“Where is it?”

“Somewhere near the corner of Third Avenue and Canal Street.”

As there was an elevated railroad handy, Larry resolved to board the cars and go up to Canal Street.

“I want to see all I can of how the department works,” he said to Oscar Harwell.

He was soon on the train, and the ride to Canal Street took but a few minutes.

From the station platform he could see the glare of the fire, which was confined to a big warehouse located some distance down the street.

At the rear of the warehouse was a lane running to another street, and by going around to this lane Larry managed to get quite close to the fire.

“It’s going to be a corker!” he said to himself, and he was right. The warehouse was filled with goods which were highly combustible, and the flames roared and crackled in a manner calculated to make those living near tremble.

“I wish I was one of the department men,” said our hero to one of the firemen. “I love this sort of work.”

“Well, I don’t,” was the crusty answer. “I’ve been to seven fires in fourteen hours and I’m played out.”

“Can’t I take your place?”

“Not much. If you did and they found it out, they’d discharge me in short order.”

“They are awfully strict.”

“They have to be. If they weren’t some of the men would ride over everything.”

But though Larry could not help to fight the fire, he was allowed to assist at removing the goods from a warehouse adjoining that which was being consumed.

This was hard and hot work and it was not long before he was in a dripping perspiration.

“Good for you, young man!” said one of the owners of the warehouse. “Keep it up and I’ll pay you well for this night’s work. This stock is all sold and must be saved if we can possibly accomplish it.”

“I’ll do my best for you,” answered Larry.

The contents of the warehouse were of a miscellaneous order. Fully a score of men were at work removing boxes, barrels and long, flat cases, the latter containing glass.

In the meantime the roof of the structure began to take fire and then the firemen poured on the water, which speedily soaked down from floor to floor.

The wetting of the floor caused more than one mishap.

One was very laughable. Two Irishmen were carrying a case of glass down from the second loft when of a sudden one of the helpers slipped.

Down went the case of glass to the lower floor, where it broke open, sending the flying glass in all directions.

Then on to the broken glass fell the biggest of the Irishmen.

The yell that he let out would have done credit to a wild Indian.

“Oh, be the powers!” he spluttered. “Oi’m all cut up, so Oi am! Somebody pick me up an’ lind me a book of courtplasther!”

Larry ran to his assistance and hauled him up as speedily as possible.

“That was a nasty fall,” he remarked.

“The fall was nothin’,” growled the Irishman. “It was the sudden sthoppage that did the business. An’ on the glass, too, bad cess to whatever med me shlip!” And then the Irishman limped off, followed by his companion. Both had to go to the nearest drug store to have their many wounds patched up with plaster. But the proprietor of the warehouse did not forget them and a two-dollar bill to each made the Irishmen think the affair not such a bad one, after all.

The task of removing the goods continued, although it was felt that all would soon have to leave the building, for the fire was gaining speedy headway on the roof.

Here, unknown to many, and totally forgotten by the watchman of the place and also the owner, was a huge tank of water, set there to flood the warehouse in case of fire.

In intense excitement many lose their heads completely, and it was not such a great matter of wonder that the tank was forgotten.

Swiftly the fire burned its way to the tank and began to lick around the supports of that huge vat, which held hundreds and hundreds of gallons of water.

Larry was on the lower floor of the warehouse, not far from a staircase leading into the cellar, when from overhead there came a loud report, followed by a strange crashing.

The huge tank had burst, and in a twinkle the hundreds of gallons of water came rushing down one stairs after another with the swiftness of a miniature Niagara.

“Run for your lives!” was the cry. “The building is going to be flooded!”

At once everybody took to his heels, dropping whatever he was carrying.

Our hero went with the rest, but he was a good distance from the doors and before he could reach a place of safety the water was on him.

Up it leaped to his ankles, his knees and then his waist, and in a twinkle he was swept off his feet as by a roaring mountain torrent and carried toward the cellar stairway.

He tried to save himself by clutching at the walls and the stairs themselves, but all in vain. More water came on top of him, and in a second more he passed into utter darkness into the cellar.

Then followed a bumping and thumping of boxes and packing cases on the stairs, choking up the entrance completely.

Waist deep in water he ran from one end of the cellar to the other. There was another opening to the street, but this was likewise choked up with boxes and barrels.

His escape was cut off completely, and now the water was rising swiftly to the very flooring above his head!