"Oh, the poor man! The roof will fall in on him! He'll smother to
death! Oh, why doesn't somebody go tell him to come away? Not
you! Don't you think of such a trick! Oh, why does he risk his life
for a lot of trash I wouldn't have around the house?"
The smoke oozes out of the open window. It must be choking in there.
For a long time no jettison of household goods appears. Perhaps
the man, whoever he is, has seen his peril and fled while yet it was
possible to flee. Ah, but suppose he has been overcome and lies
there huddled in a heap, never to rouse again? Is there none to
save him? Is there none? Ah! A couple of collars and a magazine
flutter out into the light! He is still there. He is still alive.
Plague take the idiot! Why doesn't he come down out of that?
"Yoffemoffemoffemoffemoff. Yoffemoff!"
But no! He will do it himself. The Chief rushes gallantly into the
burning building and disappears up the dark stair.
Desperate measures are now to be resorted to. On the lawn a line
of men forms. They bend their necks, cowering before the fierce
glow, but daring it, and prepared to face it at even closer range.
You are to witness now an exhibition of that heroism which is
commoner with us than we think, that spirit of do and dare which
mocks at danger and even welcomes pain.
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