The Happy Man/Chapter 16

Beryl awoke with a start, and with wide-open eyes stared into the half-darkness. A night-light in her mother's room sent a dim glow through the open doorway. The windows were wide, and a tiny breeze was stirring the curtains. She was conscious of having been awakened by a sound, but all that was to be heard now was the clap of a horse's hoofs on the road, rapidly diminishing. With a sigh she settled herself again for slumber, but at that instant the bell in the tower of the little white church further along the village street began a wild alarm, and she sat up in bed and listened. She had never heard the bell ring in the night before, and she told herself that it could mean but one thing—fire. Switching on the electric lamp on the night-stand, she looked at the face of the little clock, and saw that the time was a few minutes short of two. Then she had slipped from the bed and was peering anxiously into the darkness. Northward, above the neighboring trees, an orange radiance grew even as she looked. Somewhere an automobile horn screeched ecstatically. The radiance broadened and deepened. It became a red glare, and objects below the window found shadows. A motorcar tore past the house, honking wildly. Further down the street a door banged shut and a dog barked. She hurried into the adjoining room.

“Mamma dear,” she called, “wake up! There's a fearful fire somewhere. You can see the light from the window!”

“Is that why that awful bell is making so much noise?” asked Mrs. Vernon sleepily. “It woke me out of a sound sleep. Where is the fire, Beryl?”

“I don't know, but it must be one of the cottages. Come and see.”

Upstairs a door closed, and some one came tiptoeing down the steps. Beryl went to the door and peered out.

“Is that you, Perkins?” she asked.

“Yes, ma'am. There's a fire, ma'am.”

“Do you know where it is, Perkins?”

“No, ma'am, but I think it must be the clubhouse. Would it be all right if I went, Miss? I might be able to help.”

“The clubhouse? Oh, I hope not! Yes, go ahead, Perkins. Is Jennie awake?”

“Yes, Miss. Shall I call her?”

“No, run along, Perkins.”

Beryl returned to the window and joined her mother. “Perkins thinks it's the clubhouse,” she said excitedly. “Wouldn't that be awful?”

“Better the clubhouse than one of the cottages,” replied Mrs. Vernon philosophically. “And it is too far that way to be a cottage, I think. Listen! You can hear the flames, Beryl!”

“Is there a fire department here?” Beryl asked.

“I don't know. I suppose there must be, though. I do wish that horrid bell would stop ringing!”

Obligingly at that moment it did stop, and in the succeeding silence the crackle of the distant flames, borne on the soft breeze, reached them distinctly. Voices sounded nearby and feet pattered along the sidewalk. The women crouched at the window and silently stared at the broadening effulgence beyond the trees and the nearer houses.

“It must be quite a serious fire, to make such a glare,” said Mrs. Vernon presently, in an awed voice. “There's nothing in that direction except the clubhouse, is there?”

“Not as far away as that. Mamma, I'm going!”

“Beryl, you're not! The idea!”

“Mamma, I am! Will you come?”

“Certainly not!” declared her mother, with the utmost decision. “And I forbid you to!”

But Beryl had already hurried back to her room and switched the lights on. “Mrs. Vernon followed her, protesting.

“It's no use, Mamma,” said Beryl. “It's entirely too exciting to stay away from. You'll have Jennie and cook here, you know, so you won't be afraid.”

“But I shall be,” Mrs. Vernon complained. “And supposing the fire got over here!”

“Don't be absurd! It's half a mile away. You'd better call Jennie down, dear.”

“You're not going like that!” exclaimed Mrs. Vernon in horrified tones. “It isn't decent! Besides, you might catch cold!”

“I shall put on my long ulster,” replied Beryl, “and no one will know how many skirts I have on. If I stop to dress properly, I may be too late. Call Jennie, and—and don't impede the wheels of progress, Mamma!”

“You ought to be spanked,” said Mrs. Vernon helplessly.

“Very well, dear; when I come back. Now I'm off. I wish I'd told Perkins to wait for me. Good-by!”

And Beryl darted from the room and down the stairs. Mrs. Vernon heard the front door open and shut and ran to a window.

“Beryl! Beryl, what have you got on your feet?” she called into the flame-tinged darkness. A laughing voice replied from the street:

“Slippers, Mamma!”

Mrs. Vernon looked eloquent despair at Cliquot, who, aroused by the confusion, was now barking wildly, and went to the hall. “Jennie!” she called.

“Yes, ma'am!”

“Come down here, please.”

“Yes, ma'am!” But Jennie's tones held no enthusiasm until she volunteered, “You can see it fine from here, ma'am!”

“Can you?” replied Mrs. Vernon. “Then—I'll come up!”

With a heart that beat wildly from excitement and exertion, Beryl sped along the street and turned into the ascending road at the watering-trough. Ahead of her every object stood out black and distinct against the distant glow. There was no longer any doubt in her mind as to where the fire was. It could be only the clubhouse. Footsteps behind her caused her simultaneously to drop the hem of her steamer-coat and, of necessity, slacken her pace. Two men tore by her, puffing and blowing, and she lifted the impeding skirt again and followed at her best pace. But bedroom slippers are not adapted for street wear, and the pebbles hurt cruelly until, having reached the Prescotts' driveway, she turned in and, lighted by the glare, sped past the side of the house, through the sunken garden behind, and gained the links.

A quarter of a mile away, across the undulating field, the clubhouse was a mass of flames. Already one end of it showed in the red and orange glare like a blackened skeleton, and as she paused for an instant to catch her breath and look a portion of the roof fell with a crash, and a rush of sparks shot skyward. Then she went on, discovering halfway across the links that she had lost one of her slippers. The stubble hurt her stockinged feet, but she only laughed and gasped and kept on. A fringe of spectators, black against the furnace of flame, drew nearer and nearer, and presently, one of a dozen or more late arrivals hurrying from all points across the field, she joined the edge of the crowd.

On the other side of the burning building an asthmatic engine was hopelessly pumping water, and now and then a drenching shower of spray came over the charred roof and scattered the onlookers. Beryl, fighting for breath, looked about her, and presently saw a group of cottagers ahead. Edging through the throng, she joined them: Mrs. Frazer and Mrs. Maynard and several more. Her advent was accepted as a matter of course, and Mrs. Maynard, wrapped in a man's raincoat, with her red hair almost scarlet in the light, turned to her excitedly.

“Isn't it awful?” she cried delightedly.

“Awful!” echoed Beryl, with a laugh.

“We've been here for nearly half an hour,” continued Mrs. Maynard proudly. “Joe saw the flames before the bell rang, and called me, and I put on just anything I could find. He wouldn't wait for me, though. He and Mr. Frazer and some of the others got a lot of the furniture out. Jerry Forbes saved nearly all the liquors, they say!” And Mrs. Maynard giggled shrilly.

“It took eight of them to get the billiard table out,” said another of the group. “I guess they saved a lot of things.”

“Will it all go?” Beryl asked elatedly.

“Oh, I think so,” said Mrs. Frazer hopefully. “They're trying to save the servants' part, but they don't seem to be doing it much.” She was very cheerful about it. One might have gathered from her tone that she would be seriously disappointed if they did. “Harry Russell had to climb down a ladder, and Mr. Smith had a terribly narrow escape, Tom said. I wish Tom would come back and tell us what's happening. He and Mr. Shortland have been perfect heroes!”

“Well, I don't think any one could have done more than Joe has done,” defended Mrs. Maynard. “He was almost the first one here. He and Tom had the big table out before Mr. Shortland came.”

Mrs. Frazer laughed. “Tom says that Major Prescott worked ten minutes pulling the telephone out by the roots! And then, when he had it loose, he threw it as far as he could out onto the grass.”

“Every one got out safely, I suppose?” asked Beryl.

“They think so,” replied Mrs. Maynard comfortably. “All the men got out, any way, and the servants had lots of time, because their part didn't begin to go until long after it started. But what are we ever going to do without the clubhouse?” And she beamed questioningly on Beryl.

“It will be perfectly awful without it,” agreed Beryl almost exultantly. “Did the men lose all their clothing and things?”

“I don't know. Did you hear, Eleanor?”

“I think they got some things out,” replied Mrs. Frazer. “Mr. Smith threw a steamer trunk from the window, and it burst open when it came down, and lots of things were lost. Harry Russell didn't know anything about it until they broke his door open, they say. Think of sleeping like that! Oh, see, they're putting a ladder up there!”

“What for, do you suppose?” some one asked.

“Some one's climbing up it! Why, he will get burned! I never heard of anything so foolhardy!”

The crowd ahead of them moved forward toward the servants' ell, and they followed. The heat was uncomfortable as they approached, and a stream of water fell about them in a shower.

“What's he say?” suddenly exclaimed Mrs. Frazer. excitedly.

“There's some one in there!” cried Mrs. Maynard, turning horrified eyes to Beryl. “That man says they just saw some one at a window! I thought they were all out long ago! They're going up the ladder for him!”.

“They'll never be able to!” breathed Beryl, thinking aloud.

“This man says it's the housekeeper!” Mrs. Frazer, who had been conversing hysterically with a villager, turned toward the others. “He says they saw her at that window on the end just a minute or two ago! Isn't that terrible! The poor woman!”

“Mrs. Carrick!” exclaimed one of the group. “Why, I was talking to her just this morning! No, yesterday morning! She told me she had rheumatism very badly.”

A groan of disappointment went up from the watchers, for the two firemen, after climbing some two-thirds of the distance to the second-story window, were now in full retreat. Murmurs of horror arose as the news ran through the gathering. All sorts of advice was shouted. Unconsciously Beryl moved forward step by step, and presently had left Mrs. Frazer and the others and was sandwiched in between two men in the very front row of the watchers. The glare smote like a blow against her eyes, and the heat was almost scorching. At a little distance the firemen, volunteers from the neighboring town of Thompsonvale, were preparing again to attempt the rescue. A line of hose was brought around a corner, with much shouting and commotion, and a stream began to deluge the side of the burning ell. A falling beam in the gutted end of the building sent the watchers scurrying back as a shower of sparks leaped out from the glowing mass of débris. The men beside Beryl pushed past her, and she stumbled and the remaining bedroom slipper disappeared. There was no time to search for it, for the crowd pushed back again. A man with an axe appeared and began cutting away a window-sill. Another man seized the axe from his hand and energetically ripped off clapboards until the hose, momentarily unmanageable, sent a stream against the back of his neck. Thereupon he dropped the axe, rescued his rolling helmet, and disappeared. Beryl found herself laughing weakly, one hand tightly clutching the elbow of a strange man, who was as unconscious of the fact as she. Then, with the hose playing about them, the two rescuers started again up the ladder.

Very slowly they went, the second, a man of short stature, continually stepping en the skirt of his long rubber coat. The flames, shooting out from crevices in the lower story, licked hungrily at them, while above, behind the closed window of the end room, a dull red glow told that the fire was almost at the end of the building. Once, in spite of the hose, the ladder caught fire, and the second of the climbers, warned by the. shouts, slid hurriedly to earth. The other man, pausing, looked up and down uncertainly, and then went on, rung after rung, until, just below the level of the window, he stopped and looked back. He seemed to be shouting something, but Beryl could not distinguish his words. A third fireman, jamming his helmet firmly onto his head, started toward the foot of the ladder, only to be thrust aside as a man sprang past him and went nimbly up the rungs.

The new actor in the scene was hatless, and one arm showed white in the murk of smoke and spray where the sleeve of his coat had been torn away. His feet were shod in canvas shoes, and white shoes and white arm flashed rapidly as he climbed with the agility of a sailor until he had reached the window. Even then there was no hesitation, for he swung himself to the back of the ladder, passed the fireman, placed one foot on the window-ledge, and shot the casement up. Then, squirming, he disappeared. Smoke rolled out of the window, smoke that was reddish-purple with the reflection of the flames inside. The fireman crouched there, one knee on the sill and one foot on the ladder, and waited. Now and then the stream from the hose, engulfing him, threatened to bring him toppling to earth. The throng, almost silent, waited and watched. It seemed many, many minutes to Beryl before the volunteer came into sight again, although it was more a matter of seconds than minutes. Suddenly there was a lighter blur in the billowing smoke at the window, and a shout of relief went up from the crowd below. Something white—it might have been a long bundle—much too small, it seemed, to be a human being, was hauled and pushed through the window. The fireman held it while the other man crawled back to the ladder. Then, one below the other, the white bundle between them, they came slowly down, while the watching throng swayed forward with cheers and wordless sounds of acclaim. Others took the limp burden at the foot of the ladder, and the man in the canvas shoes was lost to sight in the throng.

Beryl, her eyes wet, pushed her way blindly back through the crowd. There was a dull ache in her breast, but, “I knew he was like that!” she told herself proudly.