Part 58 (1/2)

”Oh, he mustn't,” Mrs. Sterling said, in alarm.

”His father wouldn't like it at all; he was to stay here until he was sent for.”

”It's a fire!” exclaimed Porter, kicking dreadfully, and his face getting red, ”and I _shall_ go!”

The other boys, just on the edge of saying the same thing, now stood quite still. Every nerve was quivering to be off to the fire, which, from all appearances, must be a splendid one. The bells were clanging fast and furiously, hoa.r.s.e cries were heard, as if raised from hundreds of throats, and now, to add to the general melee, an engine dashed around the corner.

They could hear the mad plunge of the horses, the shouts of the people; and then off in the distance, yet approaching nearer each instant, was another and evidently a more powerful one, the horses at a mad gallop. It was too much for any boy to stand.

”You see we _must_ go.” Curtis Park went over to the sofa, and said this hoa.r.s.ely. ”He's a baby”--pointing to Porter--”and he's got to stay here, but we big boys must go.”

Mrs. Sterling looked up, and her face grew white. ”But your fathers wouldn't wish you to go, I am quite sure,” she said.

Curtis turned away his face, but his teeth were set. ”I'm going,” he said briefly.

Jack Parish's head spun, and he clenched his hands. Why had he come to this sick woman's house! If he were only out in the free, open air, he'd go in a flash. His father let him run to fires, and it wouldn't be many minutes before he'd be in the thick of it. He'd make a break and run!

But how white she looked as she laid her head on the pillow. Like it or not, there he was in her house, an invited guest; and she'd been so kind to him and sent him the first invitation he'd ever had. He opened his hard fists and closed them tighter than ever. Curtis Park was now at the head of the stairs. Having decided, he was bolting off. Little Porter Knapp was engaged in kicking Gibson, who was detaining him by the end of his jacket, and screaming wrathfully and slapping her hands. The other boys, most of them making up their minds to follow Curtis, were watching proceedings.

Jack strode off to Curtis. ”See here,” he said, ”we ought not to go, don't you know?”

Curtis turned on him in a towering pa.s.sion. ”You let me alone, you grocer's boy, you! What business is it of yours?”

”I may be a grocer's boy,” said Jack, feeling himself wonder fully cool, as the other's anger raged, ”but I know something of good manners, p'raps, and we're scaring that lady to death.”

Curtis Park was dreadfully proud of his manners, and he would have stopped there, but as it again occurred to him that this was the son of a grocer who was setting up to be an authority, he cried angrily:

”You're a great one to teach me manners,” and he dashed down the stairs and was out of the house.

”I wish I'd stopped him,” said Jack to himself. ”h.e.l.lo, here's the whole mob”--as all the boys except Joel and David, and of course Porter, now plunged out to do the same thing. ”No, you don't.” He squared up in front of the staircase. ”Not one of you goes down there.”

They brought up with a gasp. At that instant a cheery voice in the hall below rang out:

”h.e.l.lo, boys; I knew you were to be here tonight. Don't you want to come with me to the fire?” It was Hamilton Dyce to whom the voice belonged.

And in five minutes Hamilton Dyce set forth, with Mrs. Sterling's complete approval; a string of boys in his wake, including little Porter, who was parted from Gibson only on her hearing her mistress say, ”Yes, indeed, he can go; but do look out for him.”

Mr. Dyce nodded over to her couch. ”Come on, you little rascal”--to Porter--”you stick close to me or--” he didn't finish the sentence.

Gibson, pale, and shaking in every limb, but seeing no reason to regret that she had hung on to little Porter's jacket, sank into a chair, and simply looked at her mistress.

”Nevertheless,” said Mrs. Sterling, with a long breath, and beginning to smile, ”I am very glad those boys were here to supper.”

If her mistress could smile, it wasn't so very black and dreadful after all, and Gibson came enough out of her gloom to mutter, ”But look at this room,” and she waved her hands in despair.

”Oh, that's nothing,” said Mrs. Sterling cheerfully, and then she laughed outright as she glanced around at the effects of the tumult. ”Gibson, come here a minute.”

The old serving-woman crept out of her chair, and went over to the sofa.

”Do you know”--Mrs. Sterling took her arm and pulled her gently down to a level with the face on the pillow, and her soft eyes twinkled--”it really seems good to see such a muss for once in my life: you do keep me so immaculately fine, Gibson.”

”Oh, mistress!” breathed Gibson, aghast.