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Updated: June 20, 2025
Phil Sparks said he had no objection to tea, and left the station with Ned, leaving David Clazie shaking his head with a look of profound wisdom. "You're a bad lot, you are," growled David, after the man was gone, "a werry bad lot, indeed!"
When, therefore, he found that his utmost efforts were of no avail, and that he was perpetually goaded, and twitted, and tweaked for every little trifle, his spirit was set alight as he at last remarked in confidence to David Clazie and all the fire-engines in Europe, Asia, Africa and America couldn't put it out.
"If you goes on like that, Ned," said Bob Clazie, coming up to him, "you'll bust yourself." "I wish I could," said Ned. At that moment, Bob's brother David came towards them with the brandy bottle. "Have a glass, Ned, you need it," said David.
"We must have you into Parliament some day, Molly," said Joe, with a smile. "Women are tryin' hard, I believe, to get the right to vote for members; w'y not go the whole hog and vote themselves in?" "They'd make splendid firemen too," said Clazie, "at least if they were only half as vigorous as your little May. By the way, Joe," continued Bob, "has Sparks been took yet?" "Not yet.
"Let's get a breath o' fresh air," gasped Joe Dashwood, endeavouring to squeeze past his comrade through the window. At that moment a faint cry was heard. It appeared to come from an inner room. "Some one there, Joe," said Bob Clazie in a grave tone, but without diverting his attention for an instant, from the duty in which he was engaged.
The comrade, who looked very sleepy, glanced at a small clock, whose tick was the only sound that fell upon the ear, and whose hands indicated the hour of half-past two. On hearing the door open, the comrade, whose name was Bob Clazie, raised himself on one elbow. "Ah, Joe, that you?" he said, with a somewhat violent yawn.
"Come along, Joe," said the latter, "it's your turn to go along with us to drill." "It's 'ard work to 'ave to go playin' at fires doorin' the day, an' puttin' of 'em out doorin' the night, Joe; ain't it?" said Bob Clazie. "So 'tis Bob, but it must be done, you know. Duty first, pleasure afterwards," replied Joe, with a laugh.
In the West-End station, to which we have directed attention more than once in this tale, Joe Dashwood, and Ned Crashington, and Bob Clazie, with his brother David, and some more of the men, were seated in the inner lobby, discussing the news of the day, and settling the affairs of the nation to their own entire satisfaction. The Bloater and Little Jim were also there, hanging about the door.
Gauld and his family are still there, in the front of the battle, and with him is a fine corps of soldiers, comprising fifty-nine native and several Canadian missionaries, including the Rev. Dr. J. Y. Ferguson and his wife, the Rev. Milton Jack and Mrs. Jack, the Rev. and Mrs. Duncan MacLeod, Miss J. M. Kinney, Miss Hannah Connell, Miss Mabel G. Clazie, and Miss Lily Adair.
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