CHAPTER VII
THE GREAT FIRE
A startled exclamation came from the front room. A moment later Mr. Powell, wrapped in a bathrobe, stumbled sleepily into Jane’s room.
Jane could see Mrs. Powell’s face peering at her, white and startled, over her husband’s shoulder.
Jane pointed with unsteady hand at the dancing red light on the wall.
“Fire!” she cried again, in a breathless voice. “It must be a terrible one!”
Mr. Powell flung himself across the room to peer from the window. At the same moment the hideous shriek of a siren rent the air.
“The fire department is on the job,” muttered Mr. Powell. “It’s a regular blaze, all right! Look at that sky!”
“Is it near by, Dink?” Mrs. Powell’s teeth chattered with excitement. “Can you see where it is?”
Jane had ducked beneath Mr. Powell’s arm and was staring out with dilated eyes at the sky that was stained bright red.
“Maybe it’s the grocery store!” she cried. “Oh, I do hope Billy Dobson doesn’t keep his invention there!”
With an exclamation of anxiety and dread Mr. Powell jerked himself from the window and started to leave the room. His wife caught him by the arm.
“Where do you think it is?” she cried.
“Seems to be right in the center of town,” returned her husband. “I’m worried about Martin and Hull!”
“Oh!” cried Jane, following out into the hall. “Do you think it’s the feed and grain place?”
“I think it is!” replied Mr. Powell, as he flung into his room. “But you can bet I’m going to find out! I’ve got some papers in my desk that I’m going after, if it is!”
In a short time he came out of the room again fully dressed and Jane heard him clatter down the stairs.
“Don’t bother to dress,” he called up to his wife. “The fire will probably be out soon and not much damage done. I’ll be home as soon as I can.” The door slammed behind him.
All this time Jane had been standing at her window looking out, fascinated by the illuminated sky. Now she heard a noise in the doorway and turned sharply.
Mrs. Powell was there.
“I’m going out, Jane,” said the older woman in a strained voice. “I’m dreadfully worried. If it really is Martin and Hull’s, nobody—police nor fireman—can keep Dink from rushing in for those papers.”
“Wait a minute and I’ll be with you,” Jane cried.
It never took long for Jane to dress. This time it did not take as long as usual. She flung on her clothes and ran down the stairs two at a time just after Mrs. Powell had opened the front door and stepped into the street.
Other people had been alarmed by the red glow in the sky and by the wailing siren of Greenville’s fire department.
Mad Marion and her sister Lydia joined Mrs. Powell and Jane almost immediately. The former was in a pitiful state of excitement and alarm while the “granite sister” appeared entirely unmoved. Lydia scarcely spoke except to tell Marion not “to talk so much.”
People began to straggle from the houses, looking sleepy and frightened.
A large fire in Greenville might easily prove a serious thing.
The small fire department was probably inadequate to cope with anything but small unimportant fires. And to make things worse, a brisk breeze had sprung up—a breeze that might whip the flames from house to house, perhaps destroying the entire town.
Such was the anxious prophecy that fell in fragmentary sentences from the lips of passersby—people who were running toward the fire.
Mrs. Powell and Jane started to run, too, caught in the general hysteria.
Jane clutched at the arm of a man who seemed to have come from the scene of the fire and whose face was grave and anxious.
“What is it?” cried the girl. “Is it the grocery store?”
The man shook his head.
“Feed and grain place—Martin and Hull’s,” he replied briefly. “Better keep away from there, girl. The walls are apt to cave in any minute, and then some one may get hurt!”
Mrs. Powell gave a cry that was very terrible to Jane’s ears.
“He’s in there! He’s in there, fighting that fire! I knew it!” Mrs. Powell muttered, as she took Jane’s arm and hurried her along. “Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do?”
“He won’t get hurt. Uncle Dink won’t get hurt!” Jane’s teeth were chattering so that she could scarcely force the words between them. “P—probably the man doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Oh, please don’t look that way, Aunt Lou! Please d—don’t!”
“Hurry, Jane! Hurry!” Mrs. Powell’s grip upon the girl’s arm was almost painful. She broke into a swift run. “We may be too late!”
Other people were running, other faces were lined and anxious, but Mrs. Powell did not seem to notice them.
At the next corner she stopped short and her voice rose almost to a shriek as she pointed ahead of them.
“Look! It is the feed and grain place! Oh, Dink, Dink, where are you?”
It was a magnificent spectacle for any one who could enjoy it.
The granaries of Martin and Hull were one mass of flame, shooting skyward. Showers of sparks and burning brands fell on the roofs of buildings near by only to hiss and go out on timbers watered by the fire-fighters.
Against the flaming background black figures crawled or ran, pigmy-like, against the unleashed giant they were fighting. It seemed an unfair battle with only one result possible.
Before Jane could stop her Mrs. Powell broke away and ran toward the burning buildings. The heat almost blistered her face, but she did not stop until a fireman caught her and pushed her backward.
“Can’t go any nearer, lady,” said the man, looking pityingly at her haggard face. “You’ve got to get back. Do you walk or will I have to carry you? Say which, quick I ain’t got no time to waste!”
“My husband!” gasped Mrs. Powell. “He’s in there! I’ve got to get to him——”
There was a wild shout. People began running backward.
The burning wall of the building nearest the street swayed for an awful second; then, like the wall of a card house, toppled to the street.
A wild wailing sound that was horrible to hear rose from the spectators.