Page:Boys of Columbia High on the Ice.djvu/153

Rh After a few more hearty blows, given in order to enlarge the opening, Frank called out to his assistant.

"Now bring on your water, Lanky! Soak it in well! There, hear that fire hiss and splutter, will you. A little more juice, Mr. Volunteer. That's the ticket. I guess we've got it out, all right!" he exclaimed, wiping the perspiration from his begrimed forehead.

If the air was cold without it had been warm enough where he worked. His eyes smarted with the pungent smoke, and his throat felt as "dry as a Sahara," as Frank himself presently declared, when he took up a tin pail and swallowed some of its contents.

The fire was conquered, and the farmhouse saved! Many were the loud expressions of satisfaction from the guests. They crowded around the three boys, and insisted upon shaking hands time after time. Indeed, Lanky secretly declared that his arm ached more from this exercise than from handling water pails.

"Let's clean up the mess as best we may!" cried one of the women.

"Yes, get order out of chaos!" echoed the old farmer, whose face was now beaming with delight after his recent scare.