	PAGE

“Well my boy what can I do for you?”	[Frontispiece]

“Well, Pete, old fellow, I’ve heard of you many a time.”	[8]

Chief Trask explains the fire box to Bruce.	[17]

“For fully a minute Bruce stood looking at the house.”	[47]

Bruce tells Laura the story of his visit to Mr. Dexter’s house.	[72]

Bruce in Mr. Dewsnap’s “fire library.”	[79]

“Never in his life had Bruce known such a reckless ride.”	[91]

“She was certainly very deaf.”	[98]

Bruce delivers a lecture on botany.	[122]

“Did you get the beggars’ time?”	[136]

“He managed to climb out on the ladder.”	[156]

Laura visits Bruce in the hospital.	[190]

Then Laura began to cry.	[202]

“So you’ve been in the hospital, have you?”	[225]

“My mother is buried here.”	[248]

“Mr. Dexter * * * held out his hand for the address.”	[257]

“Skinny writes a letter to Mr. Korwein.”	[270]

“Dere’s an answer ter dat.”	[286]

“And so this is the business you conduct, is it?”	[317]

“The horses bounded to their places.”	[343]

“A single slip or false step on his part meant death.”	[368]

THE THIRD ALARM.

Chapter I.

“Do you see that boy sitting on the curbstone over the way? Well, he’s been there for the last half hour, and I’d just like to know what he’s up to. Run over, Charley, and ask him what he wants.”

It was John Trask, a chief of battalion in the New York Fire Department who addressed these words to his subordinate, Charley Weyman, one pleasant afternoon in early spring, and the boy to whom he referred had been sitting for some time on the curbstone across the street from the hook and ladder company’s quarters, peering anxiously through the open door which afforded him a view of the hook and ladder truck, the horses quietly munching their hay, and, in the rear room, half a dozen firemen seated about a table talking, reading or playing checkers.

The boy, who seemed to be about fifteen years of age, looked as if he had just reached town after a long and weary walk. His clothes were torn and travel-stained, and there was a gaunt, hungry look in his face that spoke unmistakably of want and privation. It was this look and the boy’s dejected attitude which had first attracted the chief’s attention for he feared that he might be waiting for a chance to get into the building, and steal what he could lay his hands on.

“There’s something queer about that kid,” he continued, half to himself, as he watched Weyman cross the street and enter into conversation with him. “Hulloa! he’s bringing him over here; he must want to see somebody,” and just then the fireman entered leading the boy with him.

“He says he wants to see you, chief,” said Weyman, seating himself in an arm-chair while the boy stood with his hat in his hand waiting respectfully for the other to address him.

“Well, my boy,” said the chief of battalion in a kindly voice, “what can I do for you?”

“Are you Mr. John Trask, chief of the battalion?” inquired the boy.

“I am” was the reply.

“Well, did you ever have a man here in the company named Frank Decker?”

At the mention of this name a sudden silence fell upon the little group of men who were gathered about the table, newspapers were laid aside, the talking ceased, and every eye was turned on the hungry looking, travel-stained boy who stood with his hat in his hand, looking the chief squarely in the face while he put the question.

The chief paused a moment as he adjusted a pair of eye-glasses on his nose, and then answered in a voice that had something of a stern soldierly ring in it: “I knew Frank Decker well, and I wish there were more men on the earth like him. But what have you to do with Frank Decker?”

“My name is Bruce Decker and Frank Decker was my father” replied the boy, still looking the chief squarely in the eye and trying to speak steadily, but there was a little break in his voice as he mentioned his father’s name and a faint quiver in his lower lip as he finished. “Frank Decker’s boy!” exclaimed Weyman springing to his feet, “Why I never knew he had a boy!”

“Where do you come from, young man?” inquired Chief Trask, regarding him now with a new interest and shifting his position so as to get a clear view of the young lad’s face.

“I come from Oswego County way back in the state, where I’ve lived all my life. I got here early this morning and came here because I had no other place to go to. I’ve never been in New York before, but father used to tell me about you and a friend of his named Mr. Weyman and so I thought maybe you’d be willing to give me a lift, if only on his account.”

“Upon my word I believe the boy is speaking the truth,” said Chief Trask; “he’s got Frank’s nose and eyes and his straight way of looking at you and—here just turn around a moment, my boy—yes, there it is, that little patch of gray on the back of his head that Frank used to tell us was the birth mark of every Decker that ever was born. Well young man—Bruce you say your name is? I’m glad to see you, and what’s more I’ll be glad to help you, if you need help. Here, give me your hand and sit down beside me.”

Bruce seated himself beside his new friend and then Weyman stepped over and whispered something in the chief’s ear.

“Certainly!” exclaimed that official hastily, “come along with me, boy, and have something to eat; it’s just about dinner time.”

As the two left the truck house the others laid aside their newspapers and games and began an eager discussion of the new arrival, whose father had been, until his death three months before, a member of the company.

“I heard once that he had a boy somewhere up the country,” said Tom Brophy, “and I’ve no doubt this lad is just what he claims to be, the son of Frank Decker, because he resembles him in every particular. And if he is Frank’s son why we ought to see to it that he has a fair chance to get along here, and not turn him adrift—to make out as best he can. We’re not one of us rich, but we’re not so poor that we can’t spare a dollar now and then for a son of one of the squarest and best men that the department ever had.”

Brophy’s words were received with a degree of enthusiasm and approval that showed plainly that he and his comrades were of one mind as to the course they should pursue in welcoming and looking after the son of their old friend, and until the return of the boy and Chief Trask, they sat talking over the days when Frank Decker was one of the quickest, bravest and most popular men in all the department.

But before proceeding any further with our story, it will be necessary to turn back to the time about twelve years before the appearance of Bruce Decker at the door of the New York truck house, when Frank Decker, a strong, hearty, active man of twenty-five, turned his back on the little village near Lake Ontario, where he had just buried his young wife, and, having placed his little boy in the care of some distant relatives, set out for the city in the hope of beginning anew a career which had been broken by financial misfortune and the loss of his wife. Through the influence of an old friend he had obtained an appointment in the fire department, in which service he had distinguished himself by his bravery, coolness and zeal, qualities which served to commend him to the notice of the chief officers of the department, and which would probably have won for him a place at the head of a battalion, had it not been for the awful catastrophe at the burning of the Gothic Hotel on Broadway.

On this occasion Decker arrived, entered the hotel at the command of his chief, and ascended the staircase, in order to save some women who were supposed to be in one of the upper floors. That was the last seen of him, and late that night when the rest of his company had been relieved and were slowly making their way home, they spoke little of anything or anybody, save Frank Decker, who was among the missing and who had gone down before that awful sheet of flame that broke out and swept through the hotel about five minutes after he was seen to enter the building.

Half a dozen charred bodies were taken from the ruins the next day, but which one of them had once been Frank Decker no one could tell.

And while the father had been at work in the fire department, the child whom he had left in the little village in the northern part of the State, had grown in health, strength and mind, and was now in his sixteenth year, an active, vigorous, straightforward youth, who inherited all his father’s daring and quickness, together with a willingness to learn and a decided taste for books, which had come to him direct from his mother.

During his short life he had cherished but one ambition, which was to become a fireman, and most of the correspondence which he always maintained with his father, had been in regard to the workings of the New York department, and particularly the battalion to which the elder belonged. Once a year the father had returned to his old home on the shore of the great fresh water lake to spend his short vacation with his boy, and during these visits it had been the habit of the two to take long walks and sails together, enjoying themselves after their own fashion, the boy listening with flushed cheeks and bated breath, while his father described to him the life of excitement and danger which he led as a member of what he always called, “the greatest fire department in the world.”

From his father’s lips the boy had heard stories of the swift runs to fires, of thrilling midnight rescues, of brave firemen plunging into solid sheets of smoke and flame, and so strong a hold had these stories taken on his mind that his desire to become a fireman himself had slowly grown within him, until it became the one fixed and cherished ambition of his life.

So it happened, naturally enough, that at his father’s death he resolved to make his way to New York and ask John Trask, the chief of his father’s old battalion, to appoint him to a place in the Department.

We have described in an earlier part of this chapter the arrival of Bruce Decker, footsore and travel-stained at the truck house, and his reception at the hands of the chief and his subordinates, and we left him going out for dinner under the guidance of his newly-made friend.

When he returned from the restaurant where he had enjoyed a hearty meal and a long, confidential talk with the chief, he stopped by the stalls in which the horses were standing, stroked the nose of the big gray, and said, without an instant’s hesitation: “Well, Pete, old fellow, I’ve heard of you many a time,” and the horse laid his muzzle on the boy’s shoulder and whinnied softly, as if he were returning the friendly greeting. The men noticed this and exchanged significant glances.

“Well, Pete, old fellow, I’ve heard of you many a time.”—Page [8].

“Just like his father,” said Weyman, in a low voice, “do you remember how fond Frank used to be of those horses? Why, he never came into the house without stopping to pet them.”

“Well, my little man, how would you like to become a fireman?” enquired Chief Trask, pleasantly, as he seated himself in his arm-chair and prepared to light his pipe. But before Bruce could answer, the sharp ring of the alarm bell echoed through the building and startled everyone into sudden activity.

Chapter II.

Many a time had Frank Decker described, for the benefit of his boy, the rapidity with which his truck company would start for a fire at the stroke of the gong, but never had Bruce’s imagination conceived of anything like that which took place now before his astonished eyes.

The electric current which sounded the alarm released the horses and the intelligent creatures sprang at once to their places beneath the harness that was suspended in mid-air from the ceiling of the room. Five of the men were at their heads at the same instant, while Weyman climbed into the driver’s seat and took the reins in his hand and Brophy mounted behind and took his place at the steering apparatus. Two or three sharp clicks and the harness was adjusted, and then, while the rest of the company climbed recklessly over the wheels to their places on the truck, the horses bounded into the street, turned sharply to the left and dashed away in full gallop. Bruce rushed to the door and looked after the flying truck. Fully two blocks away he saw a man in fireman’s uniform driving a galloping horse attached to a single seated wagon in which was a brass gong which he rang vigorously. It was Chief Trask leading the way to the fire.

Bruce went back to the room at the rear of the now deserted building and seated himself in one of the arm-chairs. His face was flushed, and he was trembling with excitement. If he had ever longed for a fireman’s uniform he longed for it now, with an intensity such as he had never felt before, and he determined that no power on earth should prevent him entering the service and sustaining the reputation for courage and fidelity which his father had enjoyed for so many years.

That night Bruce Decker slept at the home of John Trask, and, while he was dreaming of fires and fire brigades and swift-moving horses, the chief and two or three of his men were gathered about a little round table at the rear of the truck house, discussing various schemes for giving the lad a start in the city.

“I don’t know,” said Charles Weyman, “but what the best thing we can do for the lad is to get him a job in some big store or place of business where he can begin at the beginning and work his way up. There’s nothing like business nowadays. Those big merchants make more money than any of the professional men do, when once they get a few thousand ahead, and anyway it’s a great deal better than this fire department business, which is all risk and danger and excitement, with very little money to compensate for it. You know that he is entitled to a pension of $300 a year from the department, and that amount, together with what he could make as an office boy or young clerk, ought to keep him going. I know if I’d gone into business when I was his age I would have made a good deal more money than I have by running to fires.”

“And yet you wouldn’t change now if you had the chance would you?” said one of the men carelessly.

“No, I don’t think I would—” began Weyman slowly, but Tom Brophy interrupted him with:

“What you say is all perfectly true, Charley, but you must remember one thing, and that is, that this lad is crazy over the Fire Department and anxious to get into it because his father was in it. Can’t you see how much he’s been thinking about it all his life? Did you notice how he recognized those horses and called them by name, just because his father had told him about them? Its very plain to me that all he’s heard about the New York Fire Department has made a deep impression on him, and when a boy’s got his head set on any particular line of business, it’s very foolish to try and force him in any other direction. Let him have a try first at what inclination leads him to, and then if he finds out that it’s not all a path of roses, it will be time enough for him to make a change and get into something else.”

“But how are we going to get him started in the department yet awhile?” demanded Weyman. “You know the rules are, that no one under twenty-one years of age can be taken into the service, and this boy don’t look to me to be more than fifteen. Get him into some good office now, and the chances are that by the time he’s twenty-one he won’t want to go to fires on a truck.”

Then Chief Trask, who had been silent for some time, removed his pipe from his lips and said, in the authoritative way which was habitual with him: “If the boy wants to be a fireman I believe in giving him a chance. This pension of $300 a year ought to pay for his board and clothes and there are plenty of odd jobs he can do about the quarters while he’s learning the business. He can make himself very useful to us here if he takes hold of the work in the right spirit, and if he gets sick of it within a year he won’t be any the worse for his training.”

That ended the discussion and very soon afterward the men went up stairs and turned in for the night.

The next morning the chief told Bruce that he had decided to give him employment for a few months in order that he might familiarize himself with the duties of a fireman. He could board at his (the chief’s) home, and make himself generally useful at the quarters. “Do you know anything about taking care of horses?” he required.

“Yes,” replied Bruce eagerly, “I’ve looked after horses all my life and I’d like nothing better than to take care of that big grey Pete that I’ve heard my father speak about so often. I am very handy with horses, and I can do anything with them. Then I’ll run errands and do anything you want me to. I’d rather be a fireman than President of the United States.”

Mr. Trask could not help smiling at the boy’s earnestness, but it pleased him, nevertheless, to see that he was bent upon entering the service and did not intend to let a little hard work stand in the way of getting there. That very afternoon found Bruce with his coat off whistling merrily as he rubbed down the horses, Pete, Jack and Joe, and gave them their hay and oats. Charley Weyman watched him from his seat in the rear room, and remarked to Brophy: “That lad takes hold of his work as if he liked it.”

Chapter III.

“Hitch up my wagon for me, Bruce,” said the chief one morning a few days after the young boy had been installed at the quarters, and accordingly he harnessed one of the horses to the wagon which the chief kept for his own use.

“Now jump in beside me,” he continued, and a few minutes later they were driving slowly up the broad avenue, while the chief gave his young protege some information regarding the department.

Chief Trask explains the fire box to Bruce.—Page [17].

“Remember this, my boy,” he said earnestly, “that promptness and readiness are the watchwords of the service. Every second of time is of importance, and you should never let another man get ahead of you when you are getting ready to go to a fire, nor allow another company to get a stream on the fire first, if you can possibly prevent it. The paid department was established in 1865. I don’t know how long it took an engine or truck to get out into the street then, but I do know that we have been lowering the record ever since, so that now the average time from the first stroke of the alarm until the engine, manned and ready for action, passes over the threshold is not more than ten seconds, and it has been done, of course only for exhibition purposes, in two seconds. Not a year goes by but sees some new invention or improvement to facilitate the work of the department, and my own opinion is that the rivalry between the different companies is the strongest incentive to efficient work there is. Now I’ll stop here and explain this fire box to you, so that you will be able to understand how these alarms come in.” With these words, the chief drew up in front of a lamp-post which was painted a bright red and had red glass in its lamp. To this was attached the fire box from which any citizen could send an alarm of fire.

“Now,” said the chief as he opened the box, “when a fire breaks out, anyone who discovers it runs to this box, or rather to the one nearest the scene of the conflagration, for you know these boxes are scattered all over the city, and turns this handle according to the printed directions. By pulling the hook down inside, the number of the box is telegraphed to the headquarters of the fire department, and the operator there sends another dispatch notifying the different engine houses in the immediate vicinity of the fire. This alarm comes in to us in the shape of sharp strokes, indicating the number of the alarm box. This is what we call a first alarm, and you will notice that there is a gong here in the box which rings when the handle is turned. That gong attracts the attention of the policeman on duty nearby, and he comes running up to find out where the fire is, or to arrest any person who may be ringing it maliciously.

“Once in a while the alarm is rung by some Irish servant girl who wants to send a letter back to the old country and mistakes this for a mail box. And once in a while it is rung by somebody who is deceived by a smoky chimney or a bonfire in a vacant lot. The other alarms intended to call out a greater force, can only be sent by an official, who has a key to the inside box. For example, suppose our company were to be called out to-night to a fire, and I were to find on arrival that it was in my own district, I would take command, even if another battalion chief were to be present also. In the same way he would take command, if the fire were in his district. But, suppose I find that the fire is a big one and in danger of spreading. I go to the box and sound the second alarm, which brings up an additional force. Then, suppose that I find the fire making such headway that we are unable to control it. Then I go to the box again and sound the third alarm, and that brings up every available engine and hook and ladder company within a reasonable distance. When that third alarm sounds in an engine house, every fireman knows that there’s a big and dangerous fire to be fought, and every man goes out with a keener sense of his own responsibility than he would on an ordinary call.”

“How often does the third alarm sound?” asked Bruce, who had been listening with intense interest to the chief’s words.

“It’s not very often that we have a fire big enough to warrant it,” replied the official. “The last one we had was at an apartment house up town, about four months ago—”

He paused abruptly, remembering that it was at this fire that Frank Decker, the boy’s father, had perished. And although Bruce said nothing, he knew what he meant.

Entering the wagon again, they drove a few blocks further and stopped in front of an engine house situated on a side street. A fireman, standing on the pavement in front of the door, saluted as the chief entered.

“Is Captain Murphy about?” asked the chief.

“Yes,” replied the other, and then a tall, stoutly built man, with a military look and manner that corresponded well with his uniform, made his appearance from the rear room and bade his visitors welcome.

“This is Frank Decker’s boy,” said the chief, as he presented Bruce to the officer, “and we’re going to try and make a fireman of him. I’ve brought him around here to show him what a fire engine is like.”

“Frank Decker’s boy!” exclaimed the captain, as he shook Bruce cordially by the hand.

“Well, all I can say is, you’ve got good material to work with. I knew Frank this twelve years or more, and a better fireman never rode on a tender.”

“You see,” said the chief, as he led the boy through the engine house, “this is a double company. That is to say, there’s an engine and tender here to go out at the first alarm, and another to move up and take their places, so as to be ready in case an alarm comes in while the first company is off at the fire. Of course this engine that stands right here in front by the door is the one to go first, and its tender, or hose wagon as it used to be called in old times, goes with it. Then they move the second engine and tender right up to the front; the second relay of horses drop down and take their places in the other stalls, and within two minutes after the alarm was first sounded, there is a complete equipment ready to go out to any other fires that may occur in the vicinity.

“Now I want you to notice the way this engine is kept ready for action at a second’s notice. You see from the gauge that there is twenty pounds pressure of steam in her boiler now, although there is no fire lit, and she has been standing here all day. That is because the steam is kept up from a fire in the basement, and the connection is made by these pipes that come up through the floor. The minute the engine starts, the connection with the pipes underneath is shut off automatically, and then as soon as the wheels cross the threshold of the building, the fire is lit, and as the swift motion of the street acts as a sort of draught, there is a big blaze going in less than two minutes. There’s a little contrivance I want you to see, and although it may seem like a trivial one to you, it is really a very useful time-saving device.”

As he said this, he took from a rack above the ash-pan a pine stick about six inches long, around one end of which was wrapped a quantity of rags soaked in kerosene, from the midst of which protruded the heads of half a dozen matches.

“Now I’ll explain to you,” continued Chief Trask, “the value of this little torch. If we depended on matches, or took our chances of running to get a light from the gas-jet or anything like that, we would certainly lose time, and might have to stop on the way to the fire and beg a light. We can’t afford to take any such chances as that. The engineer just grabs this torch and scratches it. The first bit of flame lights up the oil-soaked rags, and then he throws the whole thing into the fire box which is filled with pine shavings also soaked in oil, and there’s the fire started. Then while he’s traveling through the streets, he throws in whatever wood and coal are necessary and so he gets all the blaze that’s needed before he has gone half a dozen blocks. Then you see that wrench hanging there beside the torch. Just before the engine gets to the hydrant they want to stop at, the engineer grabs that wrench, jumps off and runs ahead so as to have the hydrant open by the time the engine comes along. They attach the hydrant connection and then the tender comes up and passes them, leaving one end of the hose, and drives on until they have let out as many lengths as they want to use.”

All this is done without any waste of time, for as I said to you before, there are no spare seconds in the New York fire service. Now come up stairs with me and I’ll show you the sleeping quarters, which are somewhat similar to those around at our own place, except that they have three brass sliding poles instead of one, as we have. When the men are in bed, they have what they call a turnout on the floor beside them. “Here is the turnout.” He pointed, as he spoke, to a pair of trousers attached to a pair of rubber boots and so placed that they could be drawn on instantly.

“There’s a gong here, too, you see, as well as down stairs, and when the alarm rings, the fireman jumps out of bed and, you might say, right into his turnout, pulls the trousers up and runs for the sliding pole, and there’s a race every time to see who will get down first. The driver and engineer always sleep next to the poles so that they can get down ahead of the others. Down stairs there are two men on duty all the time at night. When the alarm sounds and the horses run to their places, these men must be at their heads to snap their collars and hitch the reins to their bits. The driver jumps into his seat, and the instant he sees that the harness is on all right, and that he has the number of the box from which the alarm has come, he starts away as fast as he can go. He doesn’t wait to find out whether the engineer is there, or whether the other men have slid down the pole and are in their places—that’s their business, not his. He has just one idea, and that is to get out into the street as soon as he can, and get to the fire before any other engine. The captain of the company rides on the ash-pan behind the engineer. His lieutenant rides with the driver of the tender, and the other men ride on the tender.”

Just at this moment the gong rang sharply, and the horses, released from their stalls by the same electric current, sprang to their places in front of engine and hose carriage, and then a moment later trotted quietly back again.

“That’s twelve o’clock that’s just sounded,” exclaimed Chief Trask, “and the horses always jump into their places every time the gong sounds. It wouldn’t do to leave it to their judgment whether they should turn out or not, and besides, frequent alarms keep them from getting rusty. If they only turned out when there was a regular alarm, they would stay here sometimes two to three days at a time and that wouldn’t be good for men or horses either. It’s only by constant practice that we can be kept always on the alert. You know that at sea they often ring a false fire alarm, just for the sake of keeping the ship’s fire brigade in practice. Now Captain Murphy will show you the tender, or hose wagon as they used to call it.”

Accordingly the captain showed Bruce the two great coils of hose, and the different nozzles fitted for different emergencies, and he told him how the hook and ladder truck served at a fire very much in the same capacity as the sapper and miner corps in the army.

“The hook and ladder company carries the picks and axes, scaling ladders, net and all that sort of thing, while all we do is to turn a stream of water on and put the fire out. There’s a good deal of competition between the different companies and there’s nothing we hate more than to get to a fire and find that another company has got its stream on first. A few years ago, when the Duke of Sutherland was here, the fire commissioners determined to show him what the New York department could do in the way of getting to a fire in quick time. You see, the Duke used to belong to the London brigade, and has been what we call a ‘fire crank’ all his life. They came down to this engine house one night, and when they went away we knew that the chances were that we’d be called out before long. As they went up the street I heard the commissioner say to the Duke ‘We’ll go over to Twelfth street and Fifth avenue and ring the alarm there.’ So I determined to have my men all ready so that at the very first stroke of the gong we could get out without waiting to get the number of the station. I made up my mind that I wasn’t going to be beaten by any other company that night, so I had everything ready with the driver in his seat, and before the gong had struck twice, we were off. And we made such time getting over there, that we came up to where the party was standing and found the Duke with his hands still on the alarm box. You never saw a man more astonished in your life than he was.”

On their way back the chief again impressed upon the boy’s mind the enormous value of time. “It is necessary,” he said, “first of all, to have everything in apple-pie order and ready to start at a moment’s notice. Then when the alarm comes we must be ready and able to go without a second’s delay. Each man has his own place to fill and if a man neglects to snap a horse’s collar or the engineer fails to get to his place on the ash-pan in time, the chief of the battalion knows whom to blame.”

Chapter IV.

One bright afternoon in May, Bruce found himself riding beside the chief up Fifth avenue, and as they rode the elder pointed out to him the principal public buildings, gave brief histories of some of the well-known landmarks and explained how the great fortunes had been rolled up which enabled some men to live in Fifth avenue palaces with practically unlimited incomes.

Bruce wondered how it was that his guide should happen to know so much about the fashionable part of the city, even more in fact than he seemed to know about the poorer quarters. It may have been that Chief Trask saw what was uppermost in the boy’s mind, for he said, as if in answer to a question, “I have to know about every part of the city, and it is particularly valuable for me to keep the run of what we call the brown stone district. The men who live here own property all over the city—factories, apartment houses, tenement houses and private dwellings—besides what they live in themselves. If there is ever a riot in the city, and I hope there will never be another one, the mob will make a rush for Fifth avenue. There are the Vanderbilt houses, those big brown buildings opposite the Cathedral. If fire were to consume them it would be a loss to the whole city, because they’ve got pictures and statues and books in them that could never be replaced. And my idea is that in time those valuable things will find their way into the Metropolitan Museum or some other public institution where they will be safe from fire and thieves, and can be seen by everybody.”

“Do they often have fires in these big brown stone houses?” asked Bruce.

“Not very often,” replied Mr. Trask, “but they have them sometimes in the hotels and fashionable apartment houses, and perfect death traps some of those places are. There was one fire in a dwelling-house not long ago that came near proving fatal, and would have if it hadn’t been for our hook and ladder company getting there in time. It wasn’t much of a fire either, just what you might call a little blaze and a good deal of smoke in the third story, but it came near costing a lady her life all the same.”

“How was that?” inquired the boy eagerly.

“Well” said the Chief, “it happened this way. The alarm came in one afternoon and of course we got right out. Probably if the alarm had told us that it was nothing but a little blaze in an upper room, we wouldn’t have thought so much about getting there quickly, but luckily for all concerned, we got away just as quick as possible, and when we turned the corner into the street the first thing we saw was a big crowd of people dancing around and shouting to a lady who was sitting on a little narrow ledge right under the third story window of her house. The smoke was pouring out of the window just over her head, and she had to sit there crouched down so as to keep from being suffocated. Some of the people were crying but most of them were hollering to her, and most of those who were hollering were telling her to jump. She knew too much for them though, and just sat there as cool and patient as you please, waiting for us to come along and save her. As soon as we could get some of the people out of the way we had a ladder put up against the house and Charley Weyman started up it. As his foot touched the lower rung I saw that the woman was beginning to sway. The excitement and the smoke and all had been too much for her. Charley made the best time he could to the top of the ladder, and caught her just as she toppled over. At that moment the window curtains took fire and swung out over her head in a blaze. I really think if we had been four seconds later than we were she would have lost her grip and fallen headlong to the street.”

“Did Mr. Weyman carry her down the ladder in his arms?” inquired Bruce excitedly.

“He carried her down about half-way and then she suddenly braced up, got out of his grasp, and came down the rest of the way herself. It was one of the narrowest escapes I have ever seen. And the lesson that it teaches a fireman is to be always ready for any emergency, and always on time to the half second. Seconds are like weeks in fighting fire.”

For a few moments the two rode along in silence, and then the chief said “I’m going to take you up to headquarters to-day to give you an idea of how the telegraphic part of the service is conducted. The building we are going to is one of the most important in the whole city, and it would be a terrible thing for property owners if it were to be suddenly destroyed.” As he said this he turned off into 67th street, and very soon drew up in front of what looked like an engine house with four or five extra stories added to it. Leaving the horse in a covered court-yard beside the tall building, they made their way to the upper floor in which was the elaborate, costly and ingenious telegraphic apparatus employed exclusively by the fire department.

As they entered, a telegraphic operator arose from his desk and came forward to greet them. Chief Trask shook him by the hand, and told him that he had brought the boy up there in order to begin his education in the duties of a fireman.

“That’s good” replied the operator, “and it’s a good thing to begin here for this is what you might call the heart of the whole system. If this part were to stop working, all the rest of it would be paralyzed.”

While he was speaking, the tick of a telegraph instrument was heard, and the operator immediately turned away.

“That’s an alarm from box 323,” said the chief in a low voice, for he had listened to the ticking too. “Now you’ll see him send a dispatch to the companies which are to go out. He sends two dispatches. One to ring the little gong in each engine house, and the other, which acts as a check on the first, to ring on the big gong. The first he sends by means of a switch and the second by that machine over there in a glass case. That one acts automatically.”

By this time the operator, having notified the different companies situated in the vicinity of the fire, returned and expressed his willingness to explain the whole system to the young boy. For fully half an hour they remained in the operating room where Bruce saw the careful and systematic manner in which every fire is recorded—they average about ten a day—while by means of a peculiar apparatus on the wall the operator can tell exactly what engine companies are out on duty, and what ones are in their quarters ready to respond to an alarm. In this way he knows what to do in the event of two fires in the same vicinity.

As they were taking their leave Chief Trask stopped in a large room fitted up with various gymnastic appliances: “This,” he said, “is the gymnasium used by the men who wish positions in the department. They come here and practice, and then when the Board sits to determine on their application they show what they can do on the rings, the horizontal bar and the ladder, the same as if they were giving an exhibition at an athletic club. My idea has always been” he continued, as they walked down stairs “to have a special training school the same as they have for the Navy, in which boys can be taught to become firemen. Our great trouble is that the men don’t begin this exercising and gymnastics until they’re of age, and it’s very hard for them to acquire activity and quickness. I think boys could be brought up with special reference to entering the fire department, and taught to do all sorts of tricks such as climbing ladders and making high jumps.”

“Oh! I was always good at climbing and things like that,” responded Bruce, “and up in the country there wasn’t a boy anywhere around who could go up a walnut tree quicker than I could, or who dared go as far out on a branch as I would. You’ll find me all right in that part of the business as soon as you give me a show.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” rejoined the chief, “and it won’t be long before I’ll give you a chance to see what you can do.”

His few words had a wonderful effect on Bruce Decker. He had not yet dared to whisper to the chief the hope which he had cherished that he would soon be allowed to go out on the truck and assist in putting out a fire, and now it seemed to him that the moment was at hand when he was to have his long sought for chance to distinguish himself. He was in a merry mood that night as he bedded down the horses and washed the Chief’s wagon. How soon would he become a member of the department? How soon would he rise to become Chief of a Battalion?

Chapter V.

One morning Bruce Decker stood leaning on the chain stretched across the entrance to the quarters, wondering how soon he would be allowed to go to fires with the men. Ever since his arrival in New York it had been his highest ambition to climb up on the truck when the alarm sounded, and be off to the scene of action. But much as he desired to bear his share in the work of the company, he had never dared broach the subject to his superiors. To begin with, the rigid discipline of the department and the unhesitating, unquestioning way in which the men obeyed the orders of their superiors, had made a deep impression on the young country boy, and besides, he was eager to have them all believe that he was a sober, cool-headed, trustworthy person rather than a flighty boy, carried away with the idea of an exciting and adventurous fireman’s life.

The company went out on an average about twice a day, and while the men were away Bruce remained in the quarters, sometimes engaged in some light work about the place, and sometimes reading or studying. He was always on hand to help bed down the horses on their return, and to find out from the men where the fire had been. Sometimes the company returned in less than an hour, sometimes they were gone more than two hours, and once they had remained out all night, while Bruce sat by the open door wondering fearfully what had become of them.

To-day, as he stood leaning on the iron chain, he determined to ask from the chief permission to go out at the next alarm, and he had just reached this conclusion when his thoughts were interrupted by the familiar voice of his superior.

“Bruce,” said the chief, “I want you to take this letter up to Mr. Dewsnap on Madison avenue, and get an answer to it. Be sure you see him, and if he is not at home, wait till he does come in.”

Glad of an excuse to get out into the streets, for it was a pleasant warm day, Bruce bent his steps towards the address indicated on the envelope which he carried in his hand. A man servant answered his ring and ushered him into the large and rather gloomy library, in which sat Mr. Peter Dewsnap, one of the eccentric characters of New York, and a particular friend of Chief Trask’s. Mr. Dewsnap was a short and rather stout gentleman, with bright, clear eyes, snow-white whiskers and a decidedly jovial aspect. He smiled pleasantly as he took the letter, and then asked the boy to sit down, remarking at the same time, “You’re not one of the chief’s sons are you?”

“No, sir,” replied Bruce, rather proudly, “I’m a member of his company.”

“A member of the fire company!” exclaimed Mr. Dewsnap, “Well, you must have joined very lately, and in fact I didn’t know that there were any lads as young as you in the whole department.”

“I’ve only been there a very short time, sir,” replied the boy, respectfully, “but my father was a member of this company until his death, about four months ago.”

“You don’t mean to say that you are a son of Frank Decker, who was killed at that big apartment house fire?” cried Mr. Dewsnap, and then added, as he scanned the boy’s face more carefully, “yes, the same eyes and the same square look in them. I knew your father very well, young man, and I’m glad to see you. Did you never hear your father speak of me?”

And just then a sudden remembrance of what his father had told him lit up the boy’s mind, and he exclaimed hastily, and without thinking of what he was saying: “Why, you’re not the gentleman they used to call the old fire crank, are you?”

He stopped suddenly, as soon as the words were out of his mouth, realizing that he had addressed the old gentleman in a too familiar way. But the latter did not seem to be offended. On the contrary, he threw himself back in his chair, uttering roars of laughter and slapping his knees with his hand: “That’s what I am, and that’s just what your father used to call me,” he cried, “I’m an old fire crank, and have been ever since I was your age, and that’s fifty years ago. There was no paid department then, with all its new fangled inventions for getting out in less than no time, but we had a volunteer department, and I belonged to it. You boys of the present generation can’t form any idea of what New York was like when I was your age. You’ve not been in the city long, have you?”

“No, sir,” replied Bruce simply, “I was brought up in the country, and never saw New York until a fortnight ago.”

“I thought I saw some of the country tan on your face,” rejoined the old gentleman. “Well, you see how thick the houses are around here on Madison avenue near Fortieth street, this is about where I used to pick blackberries when I was a lad. The city was a good ways off then, and they used to ring a big bell when there was a fire. Some of the best men in the town were firemen, and some of the toughest citizens as well. They had nothing but hand engines then, but there was just as sharp a race to get to the fire and get a stream on in those days as there is to-day. And many’s the fight I’ve seen between the rival companies. They used to call us toughs and rowdies, but there wasn’t so much of that after the Fire Zouaves were recruited and sent to the front in the early days of the war. They showed then, that their experience in fighting had taught them something that was of some use to their country, and there were no such soldiers, either on our side or with the Confederates, as the boys in the red trousers and gaiters that went South with Ellsworth and Duryea. However, I can talk all night when I get started on that subject. Some afternoon I’ll have Chief Trask bring you up here and I’ll show you some old souvenirs of the volunteer department that I’ve got, and tell you some stories of Big Six and the Black Joke, and half a dozen more of the famous old-time organizations. Since I retired from business ten years ago, I’ve become more of a fire crank, as they call it, than I was before the war. By the way, if the chief is down at the quarters now, I’ll step down and see him.”

“He was there when I left,” said Bruce, “and told me to bring him an answer to his letter.”

“Very well, you can bring me down there as an answer,” said the jolly old gentleman, as he put on his hat, took his gold-headed cane from behind the door and ushered his young guest into the hall with punctilious, old-fashioned courtesy. They walked together down the broad avenue, Mr. Dewsnap pausing occasionally to point out to his young companion some building of historic interest, or the scene of some great conflagration. They had just reached the Fifth Avenue Hotel, and Mr. Dewsnap was telling Bruce about the circus which used to occupy the present site of the house, when a sharp clang of a gong fell upon their ears, and they saw Captain Murphy’s steam engine thundering along Twenty-third street, while Chief Trask in his wagon came up Broadway at full gallop, closely followed by the hook and ladder truck, with Charlie Weyman in the driver’s seat, Brophy at the tiller, and the men, some of whom were still struggling with their coats, clinging to the truck as best they could.

In an instant the old gentleman’s face changed, and his eyes seemed to blaze with excitement.

“Come with me!” he exclaimed, as he darted after the flying vehicles. Up Broadway he went, with Bruce in swift pursuit, then turning into Twenty-fifth street, he followed on to Sixth avenue, arriving just as Captain Murphy had his hose attached to the hydrant and was ready to throw a stream wherever it might be needed. A crowd had collected in front of a building from whose upper window a volume of smoke issued. Chief Trask was standing on the sidewalk giving order to his men, and just as they appeared on the scene, one of the men from the engine company entered the hallway with a nozzle of the hose in his hand and disappeared upstairs, while a ladder from the truck was placed against the side of the building, and a fireman ran hastily up to see that there were no people imprisoned in the upper story.

But the fire proved a very slight one, and within a very few minutes the smoke had ceased to issue from the upper window, the hose had been replaced in the tender and the long ladder on the truck. And it was just at this moment that Chief Trask recognized Mr. Dewsnap and came forward, holding out his hand and saying: “I just sent a note up to your house, and you’ll probably find it there when you get back. If I’d known we were to get a call from this box, I wouldn’t have sent it, but would have taken my chances of seeing you here. You very seldom miss a fire that’s anywhere within your radius.”

“I got your note, and was just going down with that boy of yours to see you, when we met you coming up,” rejoined the old gentleman, “and so we concluded we’d follow you along and take in the fire, too. I’m very much obliged to you for your kind offer, and you may expect to see me with those gentlemen within a few days. I’ve told them both about the way we do things in the New York department, but I don’t think they believe it. Now I want to prove it to them because I am getting rather tired of the way some of these foreigners pretend to look down on us Americans.”

“Very well,” rejoined Chief Trask, “bring them down any time you feel like it, and you’ll find us ready. You needn’t take the trouble to notify me when you’re coming, except that I’d like to be there myself. If my men don’t get the truck out into the street in ten seconds, I want to know the reason why every time.”

“I want you to come up and call on me some afternoon,” said Mr. Dewsnap to Bruce, as the boy turned to go back with the men on the truck. “I’ve got a number of books relating to the fire department and some curiosities that ought to interest a boy of your age and inclinations. You’ll find me at home any afternoon between two and four, and I’m sure Chief Trask will give you permission to come.”

Then, with a pleasant smile and nod, the old gentleman climbed into the chief’s wagon, while Bruce scrambled up over the wheel of the big truck and rolled slowly back to quarters.

Chapter VI.

Bruce had always been fond of reading since his earliest childhood, and it was his habit, when not otherwise employed, to spend most of his time seated in the back room of the quarters reading whatever books or newspapers he could find there. These books and newspapers were contributed by different well-disposed people who, having more reading matter than they required, remembered the firemen, and distributed them along the different engine houses in the town. One morning, while the boy was engaged in this manner, a tall, well-built and military looking gentleman, who seemed to be fully seventy years of age, entered the quarters and inquired for the chief.

“He’s upstairs, sir, but I’ll call him down,” said Bruce, promptly rising and offering the old gentleman a chair. Then he went upstairs and a moment later the chief came down and quickly recognized in his visitor an acquaintance known as Mr. Samuel Dexter, who lived in an old-fashioned house in the northern part of the city.

Mr. Dexter told him that he had called simply to gratify his curiosity in regard to the fire department, and after the chief had shown him the different sorts of apparatus kept there, and explained the method of getting out quickly, his visitor asked him what they did for reading matter.

“Well, we are dependent on our friends for that,” replied the chief, “there are a number of people who send us books and papers from time to time, and without them, I can assure you that the hours would hang pretty heavily on our hands.”

“Why, I have a lot of books and magazines in my garret that I shall never have any use for,” exclaimed Mr. Dexter, “and if you could send up for them some day, I would be very glad to let you have them.” Chief Trask thanked him for his offer and turning to Bruce who stood by, directed him to drive up there in one of his wagons the next morning and get the periodicals.

The next day accordingly, Bruce started in the chief’s wagon and drove slowly up Lexington avenue, then turning to the right and crossing the Harlem river he found himself in an entirely strange part of the city. There were not many houses to be seen, and down near the water were great stretches of open fields and in some places heaps of lumber and enormous bins of coal. Continuing in a northerly direction he soon found the quiet avenue on which Mr. Dexter lived, and then he entered a wide gate and drove along a short roadway leading to a big, square, gloomy looking stone house, completely hidden from the street by a dense hedge and some thick clusters of fir trees.

He knew from the description that had been given him that he had found the right place, and somehow, the house, the big hedge and the front doorway seemed strangely familiar to him. It seemed to him that some time in the remote past he had either been there before or else dreamt of just such a place, only the picture that had remained faintly outlined in his mind was of a house and hedge and trees that were fully five times as tall as those which he now saw before him. And then it seemed to him that the old picture which had lingered, though forgotten, in his mind for so many years contained also another door in the same house, a side door that was smaller and shaded by vines that clambered about a wooden porch. He had alighted from the wagon by this time and, impelled by curiosity, he tied his horse to a post in which was set a great rusty iron ring, and then walked around the house to see if his dream or memory whatever it might be, would prove true.

“For fully a minute Bruce stood looking at the house.”—Page [47].

Yes, there was the old doorway with the clematis clambering about it, just as his fancy had painted it, except that the door seemed smaller, and the clinging vines less luxuriant than in his dream. For fully a minute Bruce stood looking at the house and wondering when he could have seen it before, or whether it was simply an accidental freak of his imagination that made the scene seem so familiar to him.

He was still looking and wondering when the door opened and Mr. Dexter himself appeared on the doorsill.

“Come in young man,” he said, “you’ve come up for those old books and magazines I suppose.”

“Yes sir,” replied the boy, taking off his hat respectfully. “Chief Trask sent me up for them with the wagon.” Following the old gentleman, he entered a dark hallway, in one corner of which stood a heap of novels, books of travel, magazines and other publications, which had been brought down that morning from the garret. The boy’s eyes glistened as he looked at the big heap, and thought of the pleasure that he would have in going through them, during his next leisure hours. Aided by one of Mr. Dexter’s servants, he placed them in the wagon, and then, having thanked the old gentleman for his kindness, he drove slowly down the winding roadway, and thence through the gate into the street. He stopped a moment to look at the landscape that lay stretched before him, hoping that he might see in it some object that, like the old front porch would recall some childish memory, but there was nothing that was in any way familiar to him, and he drove away shaking his head and very much puzzled by what he had seen. He was still thinking over the events of the day and wondering whether he had ever seen Mr. Dexter before, for his face too had a familiar look and somehow seemed to be perfectly in accord with the old stone house and the big, solemn hedge that hid it from the road, when his attention was attracted by a voice that seemed to come almost from under the carriage wheels.

“I say, can’t you give me a lift? I’ve hurt my ankle,” was what he heard, as he hastily pulled up his horse and there, seated on a big rock, by the roadside, was a young boy, apparently not more than fifteen years of age, whose handsome clothes were torn and dust-covered, and whose face was deathly pale. Bruce alighted at once from the wagon and asked him what the matter was.

“I was just on my way home,” replied the boy, “and I tried to make a running jump over those rocks, when I slipped and fell, now it hurts me to touch my foot to the ground, and my left ankle hurts me awfully. Can’t you take me home in your wagon? My father will pay you for your trouble.”

“Certainly, I’ll give you a lift,” replied Bruce, “but your father needn’t pay me anything for it; just stand up beside me and I’ll lift you in.”

With a little trouble, he placed the boy in the seat and then climbed in himself and sat down beside him. The two lads were not slow in making one another’s acquaintance. The injured boy said that his name was Harry Van Kuren and he pointed out his father’s house, a large handsome residence surrounded by well kept grounds. He was fifteen years old, he said, and did not go to school, but had a private tutor who lived in the house with him, and nearly always accompanied him when he went out to walk or ride.

“And how do you happen to be here?” inquired young Van Kuren.

Then Bruce told him of his errand to Mr. Dexter’s and showed him the pile of books and magazines which he was taking back for the firemen to read.

“But you don’t mean to say that you belong to the fire department, do you?” exclaimed Harry excitedly.

“Yes, I’ve been on the force pretty near three months,” answered Bruce proudly.

“My, but you’re a lucky chap,” cried his companion. “I just wish my father would let me join, but he won’t let me do anything I want to. I never have any fun anyway; there’s nothing to do in this stupid old place, except to go riding on my pony, and once in a while have a sail on the Sound. There are no other boys for me to play with—that is, none that I like—and I have to go in the house every night at six and stay there till bedtime. I suppose you have all the fun in the world getting up in the middle of the night and going to fires, and driving like mad through the streets. Say, why can’t you let me go out with you some time.”

But Bruce shook his head dubiously, he was willing to have the boy imagine that he himself was one of the leading members of the company, and he wished moreover to impress him with the idea that it was no easy matter for a young boy to become a member of the New York Fire Department. “I’m afraid,” he said, “that you’d find it very difficult to get an appointment. I believe I’m the youngest member of the whole department, and I know I never would have been taken on, if it hadn’t been on account of my father, who was a fireman before me.”

“And is your father on the department yet?” demanded Harry.

“No,” replied Bruce with a little choking sound in his voice, “he was killed at a fire some months ago and then they gave me a position on account of him.”

“Your father was killed at a fire? Oh I’m awfully sorry!” exclaimed Harry, who was an impulsive and warm-hearted, although somewhat spoiled boy, “but I’m going to tell my father about you, and ask him if you can’t come up and visit me some time. Here’s our entrance; just drive me down to the side door will you please, and I’ll get one of the servants to help me up stairs.”

Bruce helped his new friend to alight and then a man servant appeared in answer to his ring, and on learning that his young master was hurt, started off in much alarm in quest of the private tutor, but was called back imperiously by young Master Harry and ordered to “lend a hand” in getting him into the house.

As Bruce turned to leave, the boy held out his hand in a frank, straightforward way that was very agreeable and said, “I’m very much obliged to you for bringing me home, and now that I’ve got your address I’m going to write and ask you to come up and see me. My father will be mad enough when he comes home and finds what’s happened to me, because he told me I wasn’t to go off the grounds to-day. But he’ll come around all right in a week then we’ll have fun together.”

And as Bruce drove out of the handsome grounds of Mr. Van Kuren’s house, he felt that it had been a well spent and eventful day for him. He felt sure that he had made a friend in young Van Kuren, and then he fell to thinking of Mr. Dexter and his big stone house and his familiar looking porch and the little side door with its clinging vines, and he wondered for the hundredth time under what circumstances he could have seen them before.

Chapter VII.

With the possible exception of John Trask, it is doubtful if Bruce had a better friend in the whole company than Charley Weyman, who drove the truck and was looked upon as one of the nerviest and most active firemen in the battalion. Weyman had been Frank Decker’s most intimate friend, and the natural interest which he took in the son was deepened by the readiness shown by the latter to oblige his new friend and to help him in every possible way in the discharge of his duty.

It was not unnatural then that Bruce should decide to repeat to Weyman his strange experiences at Mr. Dexter’s house, and accordingly one afternoon, a few days subsequent to his visit, he said to the fireman, just as they had seated themselves for a quiet game of checkers: “There was a funny thing happened to me the other day when I went after those books, and I’d like to know if you could give me any explanation of it.”

“Well, what was the funny thing?” inquired the other, as he moved one of his men in the direction of the king row.

“Well, you know Chief Trask sent me up to Mr. Dexter’s house to get a lot of books and magazines. I don’t suppose you were ever up there, were you?”

“No, can’t say that I ever was, but it’s your move,” rejoined Weyman.

“It’s a great big house,” went on Bruce, as he moved one of his men so carelessly that his opponent instantly took it, “in fact it’s one of the finest houses I was ever in. There’s a big, thick hedge that separates it from the street, and when you get inside the hedge there’s a roadway that winds through a big, thick clump of firs and pines, right up to the front door of the house. The minute I came inside the gate the place took on a familiar look and I was positive that some time or other I’d been there before. When I stopped in front of the door, that looked familiar too, and then I seemed to remember that there was another door on the other side of the house that was smaller and had a little porch over it, so as to shade the doorstep. Just to see if I was right or not, I got out and walked around the house and there, sure enough, was the side door, just as I had either dreamt it or remembered it some time ever so many years ago; only it seemed to me that in reality the place was only about one quarter as big as I had imagined it.”

By this time Weyman had become so much interested in the boy’s narrative that he had ceased entirely to think of the game and was now gazing at Bruce in the intense manner of one who is hearing some startling piece of news in which he has a strong personal interest.

“You say that you remember the place and yet you were never there before?” demanded the fireman.

“Yes,” answered the boy, “and moreover I don’t think that I could have seen a picture of it, for the smell of the flowers and of the vines over the porch was just as familiar to my nostrils as the doorway was to my eyes. I don’t think I could ever have been there before, and it seemed to me as if I had dreamt of the place, not once, but a great many times.”

For a moment or two Charles Weyman was silent, then he pushed away the checkerboard and said: “What you’ve just told me, Bruce, is very curious and seems to confirm an idea that came to me long ago when your father was alive. Do you know anything about your father or his relations?”

Bruce thought a minute, and then answered: “No, I never knew he had any relations. I was brought up by some old people who lived in the country on the shore of Lake Ontario and only saw my father once a year. Then he never used to talk to me about anything except the fire company, and it was that that made me crazy to join the service. If he had any brothers or sisters or cousins he never mentioned them to me, and to tell the truth this is the first time in my life that I ever thought about the subject.”

“But didn’t your mother have any relations who are living now?” inquired Weyman.

“Not that I ever heard of. She died when I was very young and I can scarcely remember her. Since then I lived with those old people, who took care of me, but after my father died, I determined to strike out for myself and so I came down to New York.”

“Well, if I were you,” said Weyman, “I would write home to someone in the country who knew your father, and make some inquiries about his family. In fact, I should think you’d like to know who you are. There was always something mysterious about your father—something that I never could understand. He was a man of much better education than any of the rest of us, and I remember once or twice seeing well dressed gentlemen, evidently men of high position, stop in the streets to shake hands and talk with him. On such occasions he never offered any explanation except to ask me not to speak of it to the other men. Well as I knew him, I never knew positively that he had a child living, and I was more surprised than any man in the company when you turned up that afternoon and told us you were Frank Decker’s son.”

“But,” exclaimed Bruce, who, of course, had become very much interested in his companion’s words, “didn’t you ever hear him say anything or mention any name that could serve as a sort of clue to his origin? If I had anything to work on, I might follow it up and perhaps find out who his relations were. However, perhaps it would not be worth the trouble, for they might not be particularly glad to have a poor boy like me, who hasn’t a cent in the world, turn up and claim connection with them. I think I am just about as well off here as I would be with any of my kin.”

“There are one or two things about your father that come to my mind now,” said Weyman, after a moment’s reflection, “and although I gave them no thought at the time, still they might be of some use to you. There was a man who came around to see him once in a while, and when he came the two always went out and walked up and down the street, talking together. Sometimes they got excited, and I noticed that your father was never the same after one of these visits. He would sit in a corner, moody and sullen, sometimes talking to himself, and it would take him a couple of days to get back to his old frame of mind again. He was naturally a light-hearted, jovial fellow, and that’s why I couldn’t help noticing the effect these visits had on him.”

“What sort of a looking man was he, who called on him, and always seemed to upset him so?” asked the boy.

“He was tall and dark and well-dressed, and I’d know him anywhere by a scar he had on his face that was partly hidden by a stiff black beard he always wore. The last time he was here was the day before the big fire at which your father was killed. I remember it well, because that morning before the first alarm came in Frank hardly spoke to me, but sat over there in that corner, smoking his pipe and looking as if he had lost the last friend he had on earth.”

“And you don’t know who that dark man was or what name he gave?” said the boy.

Weyman shook his head slowly. “No,” he said, “I did know his name once, but it passed out of my mind. If I were you, I would write a letter up to the country and see if I couldn’t find out something in the way of a clue.”

Just at this moment Chief Trask came in and told Bruce to hitch up the wagon and go with him up to headquarters, and so the conversation came to an end. But all that day the young boy was very thoughtful, and when night came he had determined to set to work, quietly and persistently, to find out something about his father and his mother, and to learn if he had any kindred living in the world. He had no clues to follow except the legend of the dark man with the scar on his face, and the resemblance of Philip Dexter’s house to something of which he had once dreamt and still had a vague recollection.

Chapter VIII.

For fully a fortnight after his strange experience in the upper part of the city, Bruce heard nothing from Harry Van Kuren, the boy whom he had picked up by the roadside and conveyed home. He had hoped, at first, that their chance acquaintance might develop into a permanent friendship, for since his arrival in the city he had associated entirely with the men in the fire company and, boy like, he was beginning to pine for the companionship of lads of his own age. Two or three times he had thought of writing a note to Harry to ask him how his foot was getting along, but he had hesitated, for fear he should be looked upon as endeavoring to intrude upon a boy whose condition in life was, he could not help feeling, very much better than his own. So Bruce, who was an independent, self-respecting lad, determined to let the other make the first advance, if he desired to continue the acquaintance.

One morning, however, about a fortnight after the first meeting of the two boys, Bruce was surprised and delighted to see Harry march into the quarters and come straight up to where he was sitting.

“I suppose you thought I was never coming down here to see you,” said the visitor as he shook Bruce heartily by the hand, “but the fact is when my father got home that night and found that I had been out without his leave, he put me on bounds for two weeks and said if he caught me going out without permission he would lock me up in the house. I was going to write to you, but writing is an awful bother, so I thought I’d wait until I got off the limit and then come down here and make you a call.”

Bruce was heartily glad to see his visitor, and frankly told him so, mentioning also the fact that he had almost given up hope of hearing from him again.

“Oh I never forget my friends,” said Harry “and here’s a letter from my father inviting you come up and spend the afternoon with us to-day.”

With these words he produced from the inside pocket of his jacket a polite and formal letter addressed to Bruce Decker, Esq., and signed “Horace Van Kuren,” in which the writer hoped that Mr. Decker would honor him with his company at dinner that evening, in order that he might thank him for the kindness shown to his son some time before.

Bruce felt staggered at the idea of dining in that great, beautiful house, and at first did not know what reply to make; then he bethought him of Charley Weyman and accordingly went up stairs and submitted the letter to him. The latter read it carefully and then said: “You had better go by all means, it’s a good chance for you to get acquainted with those people and they can’t do you any harm.”

“But” said the boy in a diffident, hesitating way, “I’m almost afraid to go up there because I haven’t got any clothes nice enough. This is the best suit I’ve got, and that boy Harry is togged out in beautiful things, and I feel ashamed to go along with him, because of the contrast between us.”

“Nonsense! he wasn’t ashamed to ride in the chief’s wagon the other day, was he?”

“Why no,” replied the boy, “I never thought of it then, and I don’t think he did either. Anyway he didn’t say anything about it, and now he’s come down to see me, and his father has asked me up to visit them.”

“You’d better go with him,” said the fireman, “and my opinion is that they’ll take you just as you are. Anyway, you can tell by the way they treat you, particularly by the way this boy treats you, whether they are the right sort of people or not.”

Bruce accordingly went to Chief Trask, showed him the letter, and asked his permission to go with the boy, and having received it—and it was granted all the more willingly because he was always obedient and industrious himself, and seldom asked any favors,—he carefully washed his hands and face, brushed his clothes and shoes and made ready to start.

Meantime Harry had been examining everything in the building with much interest, and he now called to the other boy to explain to him how the alarms came in, and how the men got off to the fire when they heard the gong. All this was now an old story to the young fire boy who had so familiarized himself with every detail that he was able to give his new friend a complete and graphic description of the workings of the system.

Harry wanted to stay until an alarm was sent in so that he might see the company start, but when he found that it might be necessary to wait two days for a fire to occur in their district he gave the plan up, and they started off together. Bruce was relieved to see that in spite of his fine clothes, and generally stylish appearance young Van Kuren treated him with as much courtesy as it is possible for one boy to show to another and, so far from making any remarks about their difference in dress, did not seem to notice what sort of a coat his companion wore. As a matter of fact, Harry did notice the coat with its rather shabby sleeves and a good many other little things, for he was a quick-witted observant boy, but he was too well-bred to make any remarks on the subject. Indeed it would be hard to find anywhere a boy of better breeding than this spoiled, willful, impulsive child of luxury, who was always getting into trouble of one sort or another, was always doing thoughtless and foolish things, and yet was liked by every one who knew him. When he noticed Bruce’s coat, it suggested to him, not the idea of making fun of it, but the wish that he could get him another without hurting his feelings.

Both boys were in high spirits as they trudged along, the one because he had at last found a companion of his own age, the other because he saw a chance to mingle on familiar terms with the men of the fire department, and perhaps to even ride to a fire on the truck with the rest of the company. The New York boy of to-day knows no higher ambition than to join the fire department and ride to fires on the swift rolling engine, and Harry Van Kuren was a New York boy through and through.

“Watch me scare that Dutchman!” he cried as they drew near a basement beer saloon, at the door of which a corpulent German was peacefully dozing. A pile of kegs stood on the top of a short flight of steps, and with a warning cry of “Look out Dutchy!” Harry toppled the heap over and then seizing his comrade by the hand ran for dear life. The saloon keeper pursued them for a few yards and then gave up the chase, while Harry much elated by his exploit looked around for some other victim for his practical humor.

Bruce, accustomed as he was to the rigid discipline maintained by Chief Trask, was horrified at his companion’s idea of sport, and was glad enough when they reached the elevated station without any further adventures.

A little girl not more than thirteen years old, was standing by the front gate of Mr. Van Kuren’s house when the two boys entered; she had blue eyes, a profusion of light hair, which she wore in a single braid down her back, and was altogether extremely pretty and attractive.

“You’ll catch it when you get into the house,” she remarked to Harry, with a knowing wag of her head.

“What for?” he demanded.

“For going off without letting Mr. Reed know.”

“Oh, bother!” said the boy, “I forgot all about him. He’s my tutor, you see,” he added, turning to Bruce, “and this is my sister Laura.”

Bruce took off his cap and bowed politely to the young girl, and she held out her hand and said, without any apparent reserve or shyness, “I saw you the other day when you brought Harry home; why didn’t you drive up in your wagon to-day? it must be fun to be a fireman; I wish you’d tell me all about it. Harry, you’d better go in the house and see Mr. Reed right off; he’s hopping mad, and if he don’t get over it before papa comes back, you’ll be locked up for another fortnight. Harry is always getting locked up,” she continued, turning to the visitor, who was listening with considerable surprise to this frank conversation between the brother and sister.

Harry disappeared into the house, saying that he would be out as soon as he had “squared himself with the professor,” and Laura took Bruce off to show him the stable where her pony was, and the barns and sheds in which were kept cows, pigs, dogs, and even a pair of goats.

Chapter IX.

The Van Kuren mansion and grounds constituted one of the finest places in the upper part of New York, and to Bruce, accustomed to plain ways of living, it seemed almost like some enchanted palace in fairyland. For fully an hour he strolled about the grounds under the guidance of Miss Laura Van Kuren, who talked to him as freely and frankly as if she had known him all her life. Harry was in disgrace, she said, for going off without consulting his tutor, and he would probably be kept in the house until he had learned and recited the lesson which had been given him that morning. Meantime she would entertain his guest herself, and as she was very pretty, very bright, and altogether very friendly and charming, Bruce did not feel the absence of her brother to any great extent. In fact, he was mean enough to hope in his secret heart that Mr. Reed would keep him in the house all the rest of the afternoon so that he and Laura might continue their confidential talk as they walked about together.

And as they talked, Bruce, who was naturally a diffident boy, became emboldened to such a degree that he made up his mind to ask the young girl if she knew anything about Mr. Dexter and the big, old fashioned house, which had seemed familiar ground to her. The opportunity for putting the question soon came. They were sitting together in a small summer house, eating some strawberries which they had picked in the garden, taking advantage of a moment when the gardener was off in another part of the grounds.

“Did you ever know a Mr. Dexter, who lives near here?” inquired Bruce, during a pause in the conversation.

The girl looked up quickly as she said, “You don’t mean that old gentleman who lives over there about half a mile along the road, do you?”

“Yes, he lives in a big square stone house,” said the boy.

Laura cast a hasty and apprehensive glance around her, and then said in lowered tones, as if she feared that some one were listening, “I know who he is, but papa won’t let us go near his house. Papa says that he’s a bad man and he won’t have anything to do with him, but I think he’s real nice, and one day, about a year ago, I was out walking near there, and he saw me and called me in and gave me some big bunches of splendid grapes, and then he asked me my name, and when I told him he seemed surprised, and somehow he wasn’t nice any more, and in a minute or two he told me that I had better run home or my people would be anxious about me. When I got home I told papa about it, and he was awfully angry, and said that I must never go into that yard again, and that if I saw Mr. Dexter coming I must run away. I asked him why, and he wouldn’t tell me. But where did you ever hear of him?”

Bruce hesitated a few minutes before replying, and then made answer, “The chief of our battalion, Mr. Trask, sent me up there the other day on an errand.”

“And did you go inside the grounds and into the house?” demanded Laura, excitedly. “Do tell me all about it, for it is such a romantic looking place that I always feel as if there were some mysterious story connected with it. And then that old Mr. Dexter never goes out anywhere, and nobody seems to know anything about him. My nurse, the one who lived with us for twenty-five years, told me once that Mr. Dexter and papa used to be great friends, but they had some kind of a quarrel. I asked her what they quarreled about and she wouldn’t tell me, although I am sure she knows all about it.”

The young girl’s words of course made a deep impression on Bruce, who was now more curious than ever to learn the history of the kindly old gentleman who lived all by himself in the big, square stone house behind the thick hedge.

“Go on and tell me all about what you saw there,” said Laura eagerly. “I am sure there’s some mystery about the place like the ones we read about in the story books. When I was a little bit of a girl, I used to imagine there was a sleeping beauty hidden away behind those dark trees and I expected that some day a prince would come and wake her up and that then there’d be a grand party for everybody around here to go to.”

“Well, there is a mystery about it, and it’s one I’d like very much to solve,” said Bruce quietly.

“A mystery!” exclaimed Laura, “Now you must tell me everything about it before you leave this summer-house,” and she spoke in the tones of a young girl who expected to have her own way.

“I don’t know whether I ought to say anything to you about it or not,” began the boy in a doubtful voice, “and besides you might not be interested in the mystery because after all it only concerns myself.”

“Go right on and tell me this very minute!” cried the girl imperiously.

“You’ll promise never to tell as long as you live and breathe?”

“Hope to die, if I do,” rejoined Laura fervently, “Now, go on.”

Thus adjured, Bruce told her the story of his visit to Mr. Dexter’s house and the strangely familiar look that the place had worn; and he told her, too, of the conversation that he had had with Charley Weyman and of the advice that the latter had given him. Laura listened to his words with the deepest attention, and when he had finished, she drew a long breath and said, “that’s the most interesting, romantic thing I ever heard about in all my life. And you don’t really know who your folks are? Why you might be almost anybody in the world, and maybe you’re the prince who will come and waken up the princess with a kiss, the same as in the story book. But how are you going to work to find out what it all means? You must tell me everything you do about it for I’ll never be able to sleep at night until you’re restored to your rights.”

Bruce tells Laura the story of his visit to Mr. Dexter’s house.—Page [72].

Bruce, who was of a rather practical turn of mind, was amused at the excitement of his more imaginative companion. Up to this moment he had simply felt a curiosity to learn why it was that the Dexter homestead seemed familiar to him, and it had never occurred to him that he had any particular “rights” to be restored to him, or that any grave question depended on the fancied resemblance of the place to the one pictured in his memory.

“I would like very much to learn something about Mr. Dexter and his old house, but I don’t know how to go about it. I always lived in the country, and, outside the men in our fire company, I have no friends or even acquaintances in New York. You have lived here all your life, and everything seems natural to you, but you’ve no idea what a big, lonely, desolate place this city is to a boy like me who comes here as a stranger.”

“I’ll tell you what,” exclaimed Laura suddenly, “when my papa comes home to-night—you know you’re going to stay to dinner with us—you ask him about Mr. Dexter but don’t tell him that you said a word to me about it. Maybe he’ll tell you something that will be of some use to you, but don’t say a word to him about what you told me about your visit there. We must keep that for our own secret, and I shall be mad if you tell him or Harry or anybody else, and if I get mad I won’t help you to find out the mystery of it. Now, you must do just what I tell you or else I won’t like you any more.”

“What secret are you talking about?” demanded some one close beside them in a voice so loud that both Laura and Bruce started in surprise from their seats. It was Harry who had just been released by his tutor and had been, according to his own account, hunting them all over the grounds.

Laura put her finger on her lips and threw a significant glance at Bruce, and so it happened that Harry learned nothing of what they had been talking about for fully half an hour.

At six o’clock, Mr. Van Kuren reached home. He shook hands with Bruce and told him he was glad to see him and thanked him for his kindness to Harry.

Bruce noticed that both children appeared to stand in wholesome awe of their parent, obeying him with the utmost alacrity and conversing only in low tones while he was present. This was not surprising to the young visitor, for Mr. Van Kuren impressed him as a stern, silent, self-contained man, who might be very severe if he chose to. But his face was not unkind, and in the few remarks that he addressed to his guest he showed a certain interest in his welfare and a desire to make him feel as much at home as it was possible for a shy, country boy, unaccustomed to the ways of society, to feel in a splendid house like the one in which he found himself now. But all idea of asking him about the Dexter mansion left his mind, and although he found himself alone with him for a few moments before dinner was announced, he simply did not dare to broach the subject that was uppermost in his mind.

The dinner to which he sat down seemed to Bruce a very grand affair. It was served in a large, square room, wainscoted in dark wood and furnished in a rich, simple and tasteful fashion. The round table was covered with a white damask cloth of beautiful texture and the glass and silver seemed to have been polished with wonderful care. Colored wax candles with silk shades shed a soft light. Besides Mr. Van Kuren and his two children there were two other persons in the company; Mr. Reed, the tutor, a tall, grave young man who talked but little, and seemed to watch Harry with much care, and a delicate, nervous lady, a sister of Mr. Van Kuren’s, whom the children called Aunt Emma, and who retired to her apartment as soon as the cloth was removed.

For such a fine dinner it seemed to Bruce that every thing moved very easily and quietly. There were two men in black coats and white ties who went about noiselessly serving the guests and removing the dishes. Mr. Van Kuren, Miss Van Kuren and Mr. Reed drank wine, but there were no glasses at either Harry’s or Laura’s plate. Mr. Van Kuren asked Bruce if he would like a little claret, and he declined. He began to explain why he did not wish any, but stopped suddenly, feeling perhaps that he was saying too much, but Mr. Van Kuren helped him out with a kindly, smiling inquiry, and he went on: “Chief Trask of my battalion advised me not to drink anything, because he told me that when it was known of a young fireman that he did not take a drop of anything it was a great aid to him and helped him to get along.”

“Very good indeed,” said Mr. Van Kuren approvingly, “at any rate you’re too young now to need it.”

At first, the young visitor was not quite sure of himself and did not know exactly what to do with all the forks that he found beside his plate, but by carefully watching his host he managed to acquit himself with credit; and when they arose from the table he realized that he had not made one single “bad break” as Harry would have called it.

“Did you ask Papa about the Dexter house?” whispered Laura at the first opportunity.

“No,” replied the boy simply, “I was too much afraid of him; after what you told about his getting mad, I wouldn’t have said anything about Mr. Dexter for a hundred dollars.”

Soon after dinner Bruce took his leave, having promised his new friends that he would pay them another visit as soon as he could. Ashe was saying good-bye, Laura slipped into his hand a small piece of paper, and when he opened it in the elevated train he found the following note:

“I have a splendid idea and will let you know about it very soon. I think it will help you to solve the mystery of the haunted house.

“Truly your friend,

Laura van Kuren.”

The Third Alarm: A Story of the New York Fire Department

THE
THIRD ALARM
A Story of the New York Fire Department

Contents

List of Illustrations.

Chapter I.

Chapter II.

Chapter III.

Chapter IV.

Chapter V.

Chapter VI.

Chapter VII.

Chapter VIII.

Chapter IX.

The Third Alarm: A Story of the New York Fire Department

THETHIRD ALARMA Story of the New York Fire Department

Contents

List of Illustrations.

Chapter I.

Chapter II.

Chapter III.

Chapter IV.

Chapter V.

Chapter VI.

Chapter VII.

Chapter VIII.

Chapter IX.

THE
THIRD ALARM
A Story of the New York Fire Department