Dusty Diamonds Cut and Polished Part 27

"Friends, I had no intention of saying a word when I came here, but, G.o.d forgive me, I have committed a sin, which seems to force me to speak and warn you against giving way to strong drink. I had--nay, I _have_--a dear friend who once put on the Blue Ribbon."

Here he related the episode at the road-side tavern, and his friend's terrible fall, and wound up with the warning:

"Fellow-men, fellow-sinners, beware of being laughed out of good resolves--beware of strong drink. I know not where my comrade is now.

He may be dead, but I think not, for he has a mother and father who pray for him without ceasing. Still better, as you have just been told, he has an Advocate with G.o.d, who is able and willing to save him to the uttermost. Forgive me, Mr Seaward, for speaking without being asked.

I could not help it."

"No need to ask forgiveness of me, Mr Welland. You have spoken on the Lord's side, and I have reason to thank you heartily."

While this was being said, those who sat near the door observed that a young man rose softly, and slunk away like a criminal, with a face ashy pale and his head bowed down. On reaching the door, he rushed out like one who expected to be pursued. It was young Sam Twitter. Few of the inmates of the place observed him, none cared a straw for him, and the incident was, no doubt, quickly forgotten.

"We must hasten now, if we are to visit another lodging-house," said Seaward, as they emerged into the comparatively fresh air of the street, "for it grows late, and riotous drunken characters are apt to be met with as they stagger home."

"No; I have had enough for one night," said Sir Richard. "I shall not be able to digest it all in a hurry. I'll go home by the Metropolitan, if you will conduct me to the nearest station."

"Come along, then. This way."

They had not gone far, and were pa.s.sing through a quiet side street, when they observed a poor woman sitting on a door-step. It was Mrs Frog, who had returned to sit on the old familiar spot, and watch the shadows on the blind, either from the mere force of habit, or because this would probably be the last occasion on which she could expect to enjoy that treat.

A feeling of pity entered Sir Richard's soul as he looked on the poorly clothed forlorn creature. He little knew what rejoicing there was in her heart just then--so deceptive are appearances at times! He went towards her with an intention of some sort, when a very tall policeman turned the corner, and approached.

"Why, Giles Scott!" exclaimed the knight, holding out his hand, which Giles shook respectfully, "you seem to be very far away from your beat to-night."

"No, sir, not very far, for this is my beat, now. I have exchanged into the city, for reasons that I need not mention."

At this point a belated and half-tipsy man pa.s.sed with his donkey-cart full of unsold vegetables and rubbish.

"Hallo! you big blue-coat-boy," he cried politely to Giles, "wot d'ye call _that_?"

Giles had caught sight of "_that_" at the same moment, and darted across the street.

"Why, it's fire!" he shouted. "Run, young fellow, you know the fire-station!"

"_I_ know it," shouted the donkey-man, sobered in an instant, as he jumped off his cart, left it standing, dashed round the corner, and disappeared, while Number 666 beat a thundering tattoo on Samuel Twitter's front door.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

THINGS BECOME TOO HOT FOR THE TWITTER FAMILY.

Before the thunder of Giles Scott's first rap had ceased, a pane of gla.s.s in one of the lower windows burst, and out came dense volumes of smoke, with a red tongue or two piercing them here and there, showing that the fire had been smouldering long, and had got well alight.

It was followed by an appalling shriek from Mrs Frog, who rushed forward shouting, "Oh! baby! baby!"

"Hold her, sir," said Giles to young Welland, who sprang forward at the same moment.

Welland was aware of the immense value of prompt obedience, and saw that Giles was well fitted to command. He seized Mrs Frog and held her fast, while Giles, knowing that there was no time to stand on ceremony, stepped a few paces back, ran at the door with all his might, and applied his foot with his great weight and momentum to it. As the oak is shattered by the thunderbolt, so was Samuel Twitter's door by the foot of Number 666. But the bold constable was met by a volume of black smoke which was too much even for him. It drove him back half suffocated, while, at the same time, it drove the domestic out of the house into his arms. She had rushed from the lower regions just in time to escape death.

A single minute had not yet elapsed, and only half-a-dozen persons had a.s.sembled, with two or three policemen, who instantly sought to obtain an entrance by a back door.

"Hold her, Sir Richard," said Welland, handing the struggling Mrs Frog over. The knight accepted the charge, while Welland ran to the burning house, which seemed to be made of tinder, it blazed up so quickly.

Giles was making desperate efforts to enter by a window which vomited fire and smoke that defied him. An upper window was thrown open, and Samuel Twitter appeared in his night-dress, shouting frantically.

Stephen Welland saw that entrance or egress by lower window or staircase was impossible. He had been a noted athlete at school. There was an iron spout which ran from the street to the roof. He rushed to that, and sprang up more like a monkey than a man.

"Pitch over blankets!" roared Giles, as the youth gained a window of the first floor, and dashed it in.

"The donkey-cart!" shouted Welland, in reply, and disappeared.

Giles was quick to understand. He dragged--almost lifted--the donkey and cart on to the pavement under the window where Mr Twitter stood waving his hands and yelling. The poor man had evidently lost his reason for the time, and was fit for nothing. A hand was seen to grasp his neck behind, and he disappeared. At the same moment a blanket came fluttering down, and Welland stood on the window-sill with Mrs Twitter in his arms, and a sheet of flame following. The height was about thirty feet. The youth steadied himself for one moment, as if to take aim, and dropped Mrs Twitter, as he might have dropped a bundle. She not only went into the vegetable cart, with a bursting shriek, but right through it, and reached the pavement unhurt--though terribly shaken!

Four minutes had not yet elapsed. The crowd had thickened, and a dull rumbling which had been audible for half a minute increased into a mighty roar as the fiery-red engine with its bra.s.s-helmeted heroes dashed round the corner, and pulled up with a crash, seeming to shoot the men off. These swarmed, for a few seconds, about the hose, water plug, and nozzles. At the same instant the great fire-escape came rus.h.i.+ng on the scene, like some antediluvian monster, but by that time Giles had swept away the debris of the donkey-cart, with Mrs Twitter imbedded therein, and had stretched the blanket with five powerful volunteers to hold it. "Jump, sir, jump!" he cried. Samuel Twitter jumped--unavoidably, for Welland pushed him--just as the hiss and crackle of the water-spouts began.

He came down in a heap, rebounded like india-rubber, and was hurled to one side in time to make way for one of his young flock.

"The children! the children!" screamed Mrs Twitter, disengaging herself from the vegetables.

"Where are they?" asked a bra.s.s-helmeted man, quietly, as the head of the Escape went cras.h.i.+ng through an upper window.

"The top floor! all of 'em there!--top flo-o-o-r!"

"No--no-o-o! some on the second fl-o-o-or!" yelled Mr Twitter.

"I say _top--floo-o-o-r_," repeated the wife.

"You forget--baby--ba-i-by!" roared the husband.

A wild shriek was Mrs Twitter's reply.

The quiet man with the bra.s.s helmet had run up the Escape quite regardless of these explanations. At the same time top windows were opened up, and little night-dressed figures appeared at them all, apparently making faces, for their cries were drowned in the shouts below.

From these upper windows smoke was issuing, but not yet in dense, suffocating volumes. The quiet man of the Escape entered a second floor window through smoke and flames as though he were a salamander.

The crowd below gave him a l.u.s.ty cheer, for it was a great surging crowd by that time; nevertheless it surged within bounds, for a powerful body of police kept it back, leaving free s.p.a.ce for the firemen to work.

A moment or two after the quiet fireman had entered, the night-dressed little ones disappeared from the other windows and congregated, as if by magic, at the window just above the head of the Escape. Almost simultaneously the fly-ladder of the Escape--used for upper windows--was swung out, and when the quiet fireman had got out on the window-sill with little Lucy in his arms and little Alice held by her dress in his teeth, its upper rounds touched his knees, as if with a kiss of recognition!

He descended the fly-ladder, and shoved the two terrified little ones somewhat promptly into the canvas shoot, where a brother fireman was ready to pilot them together x.x.x to the ground. Molly being big had to be carried by herself, but Willie and Fred went together.

During all this time poor Mrs Frog had given herself over to the one idea of screaming "baby! bai-e-by!" and struggling to get free from the two policemen, who had come to the relief of Sir Richard, and who tenderly restrained her.

In like manner Mr and Mrs Twitter, although not absolutely in need of restraint, went about wringing their hands and making such confused and contradictory statements that no one could understand what they meant, and the firemen quietly went on with their work quite regardless of their existence.

"Policeman!" said Sam Twitter, looking up in the face of Number 666, with a piteous expression, and almost weeping with vexation, "_n.o.body_ will listen to me. I would go up myself, but the firemen won't let me, and my dear wife has such an idea of sticking to truth that when they ask her, `Is your baby up there?' she yells `No, not _our_ baby,' and before she can explain she gasps, and then I try to explain, and that so bamboozles--"

"_Is_ your baby there?" demanded Number 666 vehemently.