United States or Austria ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
They sometimes ventured to address a remark or two to any of the men who chanced to look at them with a sufficiently good-humoured expression, and even went the length of asking Bob Clazie if, in the event of the Thames going on fire, "'e thought 'e could manage to put it hout!" to which Bob replied that he thought he could if "cheek" were a fire-extinguisher, and he only had a brigade of boys equal to the Bloater to help him.
"Just so," cried Joe, seizing Fred round the waist and tossing him on his right shoulder Rosebud being already on his left "come, I'll carry you down the fire-escape now; hurrah! down we go." How long Joe would have gone on playing with the children we cannot say, for he was interrupted by the entrance of Bob and David Clazie.
He was on the point of dropping the branch, and rushing to the window for his life, when Ned Crashington, feeling his way into the room, tumbled over him. Speech was not required in the circumstances. Ned knew exactly what to do, and Joe knew that he had been sent to relieve him. He therefore delivered the branch to Ned, and at once sprang out on the escape, where he encountered David Clazie.
Joe grasped his wife, and the Rosebud, and the bedclothes in one mighty embrace, and bore the whole bundle towards this back door. Before he reached it it was dashed open by Bob Clazie, who sprang in with the "branch." Bob, having been roused to a fire so near at hand, had not taken time to go through the usual process of putting on his uniform. He, like Joe, was in dishabille.
The gentleman of the house had already got out, and fled in his night garments; but the fire had rendered the staircase impassable, so that the cook, the many-thumbed Betty, and the old lady, who was the gentleman's mother, were imprisoned in the upper floor. David Clazie did not learn this from the gentleman, however.
What Ned meant to do, or where to go, of course no one could tell, for he had no definite intentions in his own mind, but his energies were unexpectedly directed for him. On rushing out at the street door, he found himself staggering unexpectedly in the arms of Bob Clazie. "Hullo! Bob, what's up?" "Turn out!" said Bob, as he wheeled round, and ran to the next fireman's door. Ned understood him.
"It's a 'orrible sight, that, missus," said David Clazie, with a look that seemed strangely stern. "It is oh it is terrible!" said Mrs Crashington, scarce able to suppress a cry. "Ah, you'd better take a good look at it," added Clazie, "for it's your own doing, missus."
A disagreeable short cough harassed him, though he made light of it. Frequent scorching, smoking, and partial suffocation had increased his wrinkles and rendered his eyelids permanently red. Nevertheless, although nearly fifty years old, Bob Clazie was still one of the best men in the Brigade.
But we are wandering from our point. The engine has been tearing all this time at racing speed along the Bayswater Road. It turns sharp round a corner near Notting Hill Gate so sharp that the feat is performed on the two off wheels, and draws from Bob Clazie the quiet remark, "Pretty nigh on our beam-ends that time, Joe."
"It's time I had a snooze now, so I'll bid 'ee good night, Bob." Just as he spoke, one of the sharp little telegraphic bells rang viciously. He waited to ascertain the result while Clazie rose quickly but not hurriedly and went to read the instrument with sleepy eyes. "Another stop for a chimbley," he muttered, with a remonstrative growl.
Word Of The Day