CHAPTER III.
“SAVE MY MARY.”
There was a crowd on the station platform, and before Larry could get out of the train the two men were lost to sight. In vain he looked for them; they could not be found.
He went on his errand after that with a sober face. “I must find them some time,” he thought. “But it won’t do any good to worry Kate about this.”
The next day found him back to Ferryville, where he received seven dollars and his expenses for his work. The superintendent told him to come again if he did not find a steady place.
“Thank you, Mr. Willis, I will,” answered Larry, and hurried away. The superintendent’s kind manner had warmed his heart.
“What a difference between him and old Grinder,” he thought. “And it don’t cost anything to treat a fellow decently, either.”
From the rolling mill Larry proceeded to the Hardware Works, the largest manufacturing plant of which Ferryville Boasted.
Here he had to wait nearly half an hour before he could see the foreman to whom he was directed.
“Want a job, eh?” said the foreman, quickly. “Well, we want two more machinists. Where are you from?”
Larry told him.
“Why did you leave?” was the next question.
“I didn’t leave. I was discharged for fighting. But it was not my fault,” and Larry started to give the particulars.
The foreman, however, cut him short. “Can’t take you without a recommendation,” he said. “If you can get that, I’ll see what I can do for you, but not otherwise. Good-day,” and he turned away to go on with his work.
“Well, that settles that,” thought our hero, as he walked away. “I’ll never get a recommendation from the Printing Press Works, with old Grinder down on me. I guess I’m knocked out all around.”
A good deal discouraged, but still a little hopeful, Larry determined to cross the ferry and try some of the machine shops on the other side of the river.
He was making his way to the little ferry house, when the ringing of a distant bell brought him to a sudden halt.
“The fire bell!” he murmured, and began to count the strokes. “One, two”—a pause—“one, two, three, four—box twenty-four! That’s down to the new Riverside Hotel!”
The bell was still ringing as he set off on a run for the hook and ladder house. He covered the ground quickly, and those who joined in had all they could do to keep up with him.
“Where is the fire?” he asked, as he helped half a dozen men and boys rush the long hook and ladder truck into the street.
“It’s the stables connected with the new hotel,” was the answer. “And the wind is blowing right for the hotel itself.”
But little more was said, but as soon as the hook and ladder truck was hauled into the street, Larry took charge, trumpet in hand.
“All together, boys!” he shouted. “Hike her up for fair! Don’t let the others get to the fire first. Remember our motto: Always on hand!”
“That’s the talk!” came back from one of the men. “Away she goes. Make her bounce!”
“The mud is deep on Wilson’s road,” went on Larry. “Haul her around by the Stove Works. Now then, all together!”
And away rattled the long truck, with thirty odd men and boys pulling on the long rope attached to the tiller.
At the corner they encountered the fire engine from the river section, accompanied by the hose cart.
“Out of the way there!” yelled the man handling the engine. “Clear the track!”
“Not much!” shouted Larry. “Go it, boys!” he yelled, and into the river road swung the hook and ladder truck, a hundred feet in advance of the engine. The men hauling the engine were chagrinned to see the truckmen take the lead, but they could not help themselves, and soon the truck was fairly running away from them.
The fire could now be seen clearly. As before said, it had started in the stables attached to the hotel, but already the wind had carried the flames to the hotel itself, and the magnificent structure, four stories in height, looked as if it were doomed.
The hotel had been built by New York capitalists but two years before. It contained over three hundred rooms, and as its location on the river bank was beautiful, and its cooking unexcelled, the hotel was well filled with people.
“That’s a fire, and no mistake!” said Gus Romer, one of the men at the tiller, to Larry. “The hotel is doomed, I am afraid.”
“We must do our best to save the property,” answered Larry. “I hope all the people are out.”
Around the hotel all was the wildest kind of excitement. The beautiful grounds were strewn with furniture and trunks, and the patrons were running around wildly, trying to find their friends or relatives.
As soon as possible Larry had his men bring out the ladders and place them where they could be used to the best advantage. In the meantime, two steamers came up and began to pour water onto the hottest part of the fire.
“If we can get that L of the hotel down,” said the fire chief, “perhaps we can save the rest of the building.”
“All right, chief, we’ll do our share,” answered Larry, and told his men what was wanted.
A long ladder was placed close to the L and Larry went up with the agility of a monkey, followed by Gus Romer and a fireman named Rafferty. The three had axes in their hands, and were soon busy chopping away some of the woodwork which connected the L with the main hotel.
It was hot work, and dangerous, too, but our hero did not falter. He had been in as bad a position before.
“My Mary! Save my Mary!” was the sudden cry and looking behind him, Larry saw an old man stagger up through the hallway of the hotel, which was rapidly filling with smoke.
“Where is your Mary?” asked our hero. He saw that the old man was ready to drop from exhaustion.
“She was in Room 245, on the next floor,” gasped the old man. “Oh, save her, save my daughter!” And then throwing up his arms, the old man fell senseless at Larry’s feet.
Our hero was startled, but he did not allow his amazement to get the better of him.
“Romer, carry him below, will you?” he asked, quickly.
“I will,” answered the fireman, dropping his axe. “But what are you going to do?”
“Go up to Room 245 and see if anybody is there.”
“The old man must be mistaken. The proprietor said everybody was out of the building.”
“Well, I’ll make sure.”
“But it’s dangerous!” urged Romer. “See how thick the smoke is!”
Larry did not hear the last words, for he was already making his way to the broad and elegantly carpeted staircase. Up he went, two steps at a time, keeping as close to the steps as possible, so as to avoid the thickest of the smoke.
The upper floor gained, he could see but little. Yet he made out on one door the number 231.
“Number 245 can’t be far off,” he reasoned.
He felt his way along the corridor. The smoke was so thick he was almost afraid to open his eyes to look at the door plates. He took in a breath of air, and it almost suffocated him.
“I can’t stand much more of this,” he thought, and gave a gasp. Then he looked at another plate. It was number 243. Number 245 was but a few steps further.
“Help! Help!” came a faint voice, and he rushed up to the door and tried it. “Help!” repeated the voice from within.
“Courage, I will help you!” he cried, and threw his weight against the door. It refused to give way, and he hurled himself at it once more. Then came a sharp crack of the lock, and the door flew open and he tumbled into the room.