Kitabı oku: «The New Boy at Hilltop, and Other Stories», sayfa 3

V

Kenneth's first act after hearing the alarm was to awake Joe, This he did by the simple expedient of yanking the bedclothes away from him and yelling "Fire!" at the top of his lungs. Then, stumbling over the chairs, he groped his way to the hall door and opened it. The corridor was already filled with excitement and confusion. Of the eighteen boys who roomed on that floor fully half were in evidence, standing dazedly about in pyjamas or night shirts and shouting useless questions and absurd answers. Simms, who lived at the far end of the corridor, emerged from his room dragging a steamer trunk after him. Instantly the scantily clad youths dashed into their rooms intent on rescuing their belongings. Joe joined Kenneth at the door.

"Where's the fire?" he gasped.

"I don't know," answered Kenneth, "but I can smell it. Get something on; I'm going to. Has anyone given the alarm?" he asked, as Simms hurried back toward his study.

"Yes! No! I don't know! Everything's on fire upstairs! You'd better get your things out!"

"Somebody ought to give the alarm," said Kenneth. "Who's seen Mr. Bronson?"

But none had time to answer him. Kenneth scooted down the hall and thumped at the instructor's door. There was no answer and Kenneth unceremoniously shoved it open. The study was in darkness.

"Mr. Bronson!" he cried. "Mr. Bronson!"

There was no reply, and Kenneth recollected that very frequently Mr. Bronson spent Sunday night at his home. He hurried back to his own room and found Joe throwing their belongings out of the windows. At that moment the bell on School Hall began to clang wildly and a second afterwards the alarm was taken up by the fire bell in the village, a mile away.

Kenneth pulled on his trousers and shoes, looked for a coat only to find that Joe had thrown all the coats out of the windows, and went back to the corridor. All up and down it boys were staggering along with trunks and bags, while from the western end the smoke was volleying forth from Number 19 in great billowy clouds. From the floor above raced fellows with suit cases and small trunks, shouting and laughing in the excitement of the moment.

One of the older boys, Harris by name, came galloping upstairs with a fire extinguisher, followed by a crowd of partly dressed fellows from Upper House. But the smoke which filled the end of the corridor drove them back and the stream from the extinguisher wasted itself against the fast yellowing plaster of the wall. The building was rapidly becoming uninhabitable and, calling Joe from the study, where he was vainly trying to get the study table through the casement, Kenneth made for the stairs. The light at the far end of the corridor shone red and murky through the dense clouds of smoke.

"All out of the building!" cried a voice from below, and the half dozen adventurous spirits remaining in the second floor corridor started down the stairs.

"Do you know how it began?" asked Joe of a boy beside him.

"Yes," was the reply. "King, in 19, was reading in bed with a lamp he has, and he went to sleep and upset it somehow. He got burned, they say."

"Serves him right," muttered some one. Kenneth glanced around and found

Grafton Hyde beside him.

"Hello," said Kenneth.

"Hello," answered Grafton. "Did you save anything?"

"Yes, I guess so," Kenneth replied. "Did you?"

For the moment animosities were forgotten, wiped out of existence by the calamity.

"Not much," said Grafton. "But I don't care. I tried to get my trunk down but the smoke was fierce and the end of the building was all in flames. So I lit out."

The lower hall was crowded with boys. Dr. Randall, tall and gaunt in a red flowered dressing gown, and several of the instructors were doing their best to clear the building.

"All out, boys!" called the doctor. "It isn't safe here now! The firemen will be here in a minute and you'll only be in the way! I want you all to go over to Upper House!"

"Hello!" said Kenneth. "What's the matter with you, Jasper?"

Jasper Hendricks, the youngest boy in school, was crouched in a dim corner of the hall, sobbing and shaking as though his heart was broken.

"What's up?" asked Grafton.

"Don't know. Here's young Jasper crying like a good one. What's the trouble, Jasper? Did you get hurt?"

But the boy apparently didn't even hear them.

"Lost his things, probably," suggested Grafton, "and feels it. Never mind, kid? you'll get some more."

"I want every boy out of the building!" cried the doctor. But his voice was almost drowned in the babel of cries and shouts and laughter.

"Come on, Jasper," said Kenneth, trying to raise him to his feet. "We've got to get out."

For the first time he caught a glimpse of the boy's face. It was white and drawn and horror stricken.

"What's the matter?" cried Kenneth in alarm. Young Hendrick's lips moved but Kenneth could not distinguish the whispered words.

"Eh? What's that? Speak louder! You're all right now! Don't be scared! What is it?" And Kenneth bent his head as the younger boy clung to him convulsively.

"Mister Whipple!"

Kenneth barely caught the whispered words.

"Mr. Whipple," he muttered. "What does he mean?" He pulled the lad's body around so that he could see his face in the smoke-dimmed light. "What about him, Jasper? He's safe, isn't he?"

The white face shook from side to side.

"What does he say?" cried Grafton. "Whipple? Isn't he down? Where is he?"

"He must be—!"

Kenneth paused, his own face paling, and looked fearsomely toward the stairs down which the gray-brown smoke was floating wraithlike. Then his eyes met Grafton's and he read his own horror reflected there.

"Jasper's room is next to Mr. Whipple's," said Grafton hoarsely. "He must have seen something! Jasper, is Mr. Whipple up there now?"

The lad's head nodded weakly. Then he broke again into great dry sobs that shook him from head to foot. Kenneth seized him beneath the shoulders and dragged him a few yards nearer the door. There he put him down.

"Don't cry, Jasper," he whispered kindly. "It's all right; we'll save him!"

For an instant he looked about him. Through the doors the boys were pushing their way outward, protesting, laughing, excitedly.

Of the faculty Dr. Randall alone was in sight. One other instant Kenneth hesitated. Then with a bound he was halfway up the first flight.

"Who's that going up there?" cried the doctor. "Here, come back instantly!"

But Kenneth did not hear, or, hearing, paid no heed. He was at the second floor, the evil-smelling smoke thick about him, blinding his eyes and smarting his throat. Above him was a strange lurid glare and the roaring of the flames. For a moment his heart failed him and he leaned weak and panting against the banister. Then a voice sounded in his ears.

"It's no use, Garwood," cried Grafton. "We can't get up there."

"We'll try," was the answer.

Bending low, his sleeve over his mouth, Kenneth rushed the next flight. Grafton was at his heels. At the top Kenneth crouched against the last step and squinted painfully down the corridor in the direction of Mr. Whipple's room and the flames. The heat was stifling and the smoke rolled toward them in great red waves. Grafton, choking, coughing, crouched at Kenneth's side.

"We can't reach him," he muttered. "The fire has cut him off."

It seemed true. Mr. Whipple's room was at the far end and between his door and the stairway the flames were rioting wildly, licking up the woodwork and playing over the lathes from which the plaster was crumbling away. Kenneth's heart sank and for an instant he thought he was going to faint. Everything grew black before him and his head settled down on his outstretched arm. Then Grafton was shaking him by the shoulder and his senses returned.

"Come on!" cried Grafton. "Let's get out of this while we can! We'll be burned alive in a minute!" There was panic in his voice and he tugged nervously at Kenneth's arm.

At that moment a great expanse of plaster fell from the ceiling some thirty feet away and the flames glared luridly through the corridor, making everything for a brief moment as light as day. From below came calls, but Kenneth did not hear them.

"Look!" he cried, seizing Grafton's arm. "On the floor! Do you see?"

"Yes," shouted Grafton. "It's Mr. Whipple! Can we get him?"

"I'm going to try," was the calm reply. "Will you come with me?"

For a moment the two boys looked into each other's eyes, squinting painfully in the acrid smoke. The flames crackled and roared in their ears. The strained, terror-stricken look passed from Grafton's face. His eyes lighted and he even smiled a little.

"Come on," he said simply.

"Wait!" Kenneth leaned down so that his face was against the spindles and took a deep breath. There was a current of clearer air arising from the well and, although it smarted in his lungs, it gave him relief. Grafton followed his example. Then, for they realized that there was no time to lose, with one accord they rushed, stooping, down the corridor into the face of the flames.

Mr. Whipple lay stretched face downward on the floor where he had fallen when overcome by the smoke and, as is more than likely, his terror. He was in his night clothes and one hand grasped a small satchel. Behind him the floor was afire scarcely a yard away. The thirty feet from the stairs to where he lay seemed as many yards to the rescuers, and the heat grew fiercer at every step. But they gained the goal, fighting for breath, bending their heads against the savage onslaughts of the flames, and seized the instructor's arms. Whether he was alive there was no time to ascertain. There was time for nothing save to strive to drag him toward the stairway. With tightly closed eyes, from which the smarting tears rolled down their faces, and sobbing breaths, they struggled back.

But if it had been hard going it was trebly hard returning. The instructor was not a large man nor a heavy one, but now he seemed to weigh tons. Their feet slipped on the plaster-sprinkled boards and their hearts hammered in their throats. Ten feet they made; and then, as though angry at being deprived of their prey, the flames burst with a sudden roar through the melting partition a few feet behind them and strove to conquer them with a scorching breath. Kenneth staggered to his knees under its fury and Grafton gave a cry of anguish and despair. But the fiery wave receded and they struggled desperately on, fighting now for their own lives as well as for that of the instructor.

Ten feet more and the worst was passed. A frenzied rush for the stairway and safety was in sight. Half falling, half stumbling, they went down the first few steps to the landing at the turn, Mr. Whipple's inert body thumping along between them. There, with faces held close to the boards, they lay drinking in grateful breaths of the smoke-poisoned air, which, after what they had been inhaling, was fresh and sweet.

Then, above the booming of the fire, voices reached them, hoarse, anxious voices, and white faces peered up at them through the smoke from the corridor below.

"All right!" called Kenneth, but, to his surprise, his words were only hoarse whispers. Struggling to his knees, he seized Mr. Whipple's arm and strove to go on. But Grafton offered no assistance. He lay motionless where he had thrown himself on the landing.

"Come on!" croaked Kenneth impatiently, and tugged at his double burden. Then the crimson light went suddenly out and he subsided limply against the banisters just as the rescuers dashed up to them.

When Kenneth came to a few minutes later he was being carried across the campus. Near at hand a fire engine throbbed and roared, sending showers of sparks into the winter darkness. Behind him a red glare threw long moving shadows across the grass. In his ears were shouts and commands and a shrill whistling. Then he lost consciousness again.

VI

Kenneth lay in bed in Dr. Randall's spare chamber. His left hand was bandaged and a wet cloth lay across his closed eyes. A window was open and the lowered shade billowed softly up and down, letting into the darkened room quick splashes of sunlight. From without came the cheerful patter of melting snow upon the sill.

Kenneth had had his breakfast—how long ago he could not say, since he had slept since then—and had learned all the exciting news; that Lower House was so badly burned that there was no question of repairing it; that Mr. Whipple had been sent to the hospital at Lynnminster, seriously but not dangerously hurt; that Grafton Hyde had received no damage and was about this forenoon wearing a strangely blank expression due to the loss of his eyebrows; and that King, to whose disregard of the rules the fire had been due, had, previous rumors to the contrary, escaped unharmed.

Kenneth's informant had been the school doctor, who had also imparted the information that Kenneth's injuries were trifling, a couple of scorched fingers and a pair of badly inflamed eyes, but that nevertheless he would kindly spend the day in bed, "as heroes are scarce these days and must be well looked after when found."

There came a soft tapping at the door and Kenneth peeked eagerly out from under the bandage as Grafton Hyde entered and tiptoed across the floor. Kenneth looked for a moment and grinned; then he chuckled; then he threw an arm across his face and gave way to laughter unrestrained. Grafton laughed, too, though somewhat ruefully.

"Don't I look like a fool?" he asked.

Kenneth regained his composure with a gasp.

"I—I didn't mean to be rude," he said contritely, "but—"

"Oh, I don't mind," answered Grafton. "Besides, I'll bet you're the same way."

"Me?" Kenneth looked startled and passed a finger questioningly across his eyebrows. "There's nothing here!" he gasped. Off came the bandage. "How do I look?"

A smile started at Grafton's lips and slowly overspread his face. Kenneth smiled back.

"We must be a pair of freaks," he said, chuckling. "Do they ever grow back again?"

"Yes, in no time," answered Grafton. "Besides, Joe says that all you have to do is to take a pencil and rub it over and no one can tell. I'm going to try it." He sat down cautiously on the edge of the bed. "How are you feeling!" he asked.

"All right. Kind of tired, though. How about you?"

"Fine." There was a silence during which he played nervously with a shoe strap. At last:

"I say, Garwood," he blurted, "it's—it's all right about—about that, you know. I told President Randall."

"You needn't have," muttered Kenneth.

"I wanted to! And I'm sorry. It was a sneaky thing that I did to you. I—I don't know why I cared so much about staying on the team; I don't now."

"Did he—was he mad about it?"

"Wasn't he! I am to be suspended for a month."

"I'm sorry," said Kenneth honestly. "It—it was decent of you to tell."

"Decent nothing! It was decent of you not to blow on me the other day. Why didn't you?" he asked curiously.

"Oh, I don't know," answered Kenneth embarrassedly. "I—I didn't like to, I suppose. When are you going?"

"This afternoon. That's why I came to see you now, I wanted to—to tell you that I was sorry about it and see if you wouldn't be friends."

"That's all right," said Kenneth. "I—I'm glad you came."

Had they been older they would have shaken hands. As it was they merely avoided looking at each other and maintained an embarrassed silence for a moment. It amounted to the same thing.

The silence was broken by a knock on the door.

"Come!" called Kenneth.

"Look at the heroes having a convention," said Joe gayly as he crossed the floor. "The Society of the Singed Cats! Well, how are you feeling, chum?"

"Fine and dandy," answered Kenneth.

"Good! Say, we had lots of fun last night! They bunked us in with the Upper House fellows, and maybe there wasn't a circus! Every time we see King we ask him if it's hot enough for him! I wouldn't be surprised if he folded his pyjamas like the Arabs—that's all he saved, you know—and as silently stole away. We've sure got him worried!" He paused and looked inquiringly from Kenneth to Grafton. "Did Graft tell you?" he asked.

Kenneth nodded.

"I always told you he wasn't a bad sort, didn't I? Don't you care, Graft; we'll keep a place warm for you, and a month is just a nice vacation. Wouldn't mind it myself! Say, are you going to be fit to play in Saturday's game, Kenneth?"

"I don't know. Will they let me?"

"Why not? They haven't anything against you now, have they? How about your blessed eyes?"

"Oh, they'll be all right, I guess. But I wish—Graft was going to play."

"Oh, I don't care," declared that youth stoutly. "Go in and give 'em fits, Kenneth. And—one of you fellows might write me about the game," he added wistfully.

"We'll do it," said Joe. "We'll write a full account and send diagrams of the broken heads of the Uppers. Only thing I'm afraid of," he added soberly, "is that now that Kenneth hasn't any eyebrows they may take his head for the ball!" Kenneth was up the next day feeling as fit as ever, but when the subject of returning to basketball practice was broached to the doctor, Kenneth met with disappointment.

"I can't allow it," said the doctor kindly but firmly. "I'm sorry, but you know we're responsible for you while you're here, my boy, and I think you'd better keep away from violent exercise for a week or two. No, no more basket ball this year."

The verdict brought gloom to Lower House, or, as Upper facetiously called them now, the Homeless Ones. For with Grafton gone and Kenneth out of the game the team's plight was desperate. But there was no help for it, and so Jim Marble went to work to patch up the team as best he might, putting Simms back at guard and placing Niles, a substitute, at right forward.

The Homeless Ones were quartered wherever space could be found for them. Joe and Kenneth were so fortunate as to get together again in an improvised bedroom, which had previously been a disused recitation room, at the top of School Hall. Most of the Lower House residents had saved their principal effects and those who had lost their clothing were reimbursed by the school.

Friday morning two announcements of much interest were made.

"On Monday next," said the doctor, "we receive a new member into the Faculty, Mr. George Howell Fair. Mr. Fair, who is a graduate of Princeton, will take the place left vacant by the resignation of Mr. Whipple, who was so unfortunately injured in the recent disaster. Mr. Fair will take up Mr. Whipple's work where that gentleman left off."

There was a stir throughout chapel, and murmurs of satisfaction. The doctor picked up another slip of paper, cast his eyes over it and cleared his throat.

"You will also be pleased to learn," he said, "that in our time of tribulation generous friends have come to our assistance. We have lost one of our buildings, but money has already been provided for the erection of a new and far more suitable one. I have received from Mr. John Garwood, of Cleveland, and Mr. Peter L. Hyde, of Chicago, a draft for the sum of one hundred thousand dollars for the erection of a large dormitory capable of housing the entire student body. The generous gift seems to me especially, singularly appropriate, coming as it does from the fathers of those two students who recently so bravely distinguished themselves. With this thought in mind the Faculty has already decided that the new dormitory when completed shall be known as Garwood-Hyde Hall."

Well, Kenneth's secret was out! I hope and believe that his fellows held him in no higher esteem because they found out that he was the son of one of the country's wealthiest men. But true it is that for the next few days he was the object of violent interest not altogether unmixed with awe.

But Joe had to have everything explained, and as the shortest means to that result Kenneth produced a letter which he had received from his father the day before and gave it to Joe to read. Only portions of it interest us, however.

"The newspaper account" (ran the letter) "says that neither of you sustained serious injuries. I trust that it is so. But I think I had better satisfy myself on that point, and so you may look for me at the school on Saturday next. Your mother is anxious to have you come home, but I tell her that a little thing like pulling a professor out of the fire isn't likely to feaze a Garwood!

"Now, another thing. You recollect that when you decided to go to Hilltop we talked it over and thought it best to keep dark the fact that you were my son. You wanted to stand on your own merits, and I wanted you to. Then, too, we feared that Hyde's boy, because of the misunderstanding between Peter Hyde and myself, might try to make it uncomfortable for you. That alarm seems now to have been groundless, since surely a boy who could do what he did—and join you in doing it—wouldn't be likely to pick on another. But that's of no consequence now, as it happens.

"Quite by accident I met Peter here the day after the papers published the story of your little stunt. Well, he was so tickled about it that we shook hands and had a 'touching reconciliation,' quite like what you see in the plays. We talked about 'those worthless kids' of ours and it ended up with his coming home to dinner with me. So you see you did more than save a professor's life; you brought about a renewal of an old friendship. After dinner we got to talking it over and decided the least we could do was to replace that building. So I've sent your principal a draft by this mail which will cover the cost of a good new hall. I'm giving half and Peter's giving half. I hope you and young Hyde will be good friends, just as his father and I are going to be hereafter. You may expect me Saturday."

"Now," cried Joe triumphantly when he had finished reading, "now I understand about those brushes!"

"What brushes?" asked Kenneth.

"Why, the night of the fire I threw your suit case out of the window, and when I went down to get it, it had bust open and was full of swell silver-backed things. I thought at first I'd got some one else's bag, but I found I hadn't. And I wondered why you hadn't had those brushes out."

"Oh," laughed Kenneth, "I thought they looked a bit too giddy!"