It seems impossible for the onlookers to remain constant in one
spot. The chief, Charley Lomax, is gesticulating with wide arm
movements. He puts his speaking-trumpet to his mouth.
"Yoffemoffemoffemoffemoffi" he says.
"Wha-at?" the men halloo back.
"Yoffemoffemoffemoffemoff."
"What'd he say?"
"Search me. John, you run over and ask him what he wants. Or,
no; I'll go myself."
"Why in Sam Hill didn't you come sooner?" demands the angry chief.
"Well, why in Sam Hill don't you talk so 's a body can understand
you? 'Yoffemoffemoffemoffem.' Who can make sense out o' that?"
"The hose ain't long enough to reach from here to the hydrant.
You 'n' some more of 'em run down t' th' house an' git that other
reel."
"Aw, say, Chief! Look here. I'm awful busy right now. Can't
somebody else go?"
"You go an' do what I tell you to, and don't gimme none o' your
back talk."
(Too dag-gon bossy and dictatorial, that Charley Lomax is. Getting
'most too big for his breeches. Never mind. there's going to be a
fire election week from Tuesday. See whether he'll be chief next
year or not. Sending a man away from the fire right at the most
interesting part!)
"I'll go, Chief, wommetoo," puts in jumbo Lee, all in a huddle
of words. "Ije slivsnot. Aw ri. Mon Jim. Shoonmeansmore of
'em go gitth'otherreel.
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