Upon this pitiful mound sits Mrs. Swope with her
baby sound asleep upon her bosom. She mingles her tears with the
sustaining tea that Mrs. Farley has made for her. Swope, still in
his socks and with his wife's shoulder-cape upon him, caught up
somehow, is trying to soothe her. He is as mad as a hornet, and
doesn't dare to show it. All this furniture he had insured. It
was all old stuff their folks had given them. If the gallant
fire-laddies had been as discreet as they were zealous, they would
have let the furniture go, and Swope and his wife would have had an
entire, brand-new outfit. As it is, who can ever make that junk
look like anything any more?
What's this coming up the road? Jumbo Lee and his friends with
the other hose-reel. Now they will connect it with the hydrant,
and have water a-plenty to save the house. Now the fellows are
coming down from the ladder. Cistern's empty, I suppose. The
other reel didn't come any too soon. How the roof steams! Or is
it smoking?
"Don't stand around here with that reel! Up to that water-plug.
Farther up the street. Front o' Cummins's."
Jumbo crams another cracker into his mouth and speeds away,
hunching the patient, unresenting air with his elbows.
Ah! See - that little flicker of flame on the roof! Do, for pity's
sake, hurry up with that connection! The roof is really burning.
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