The Argosy, Christmas 1912 — page 217: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

WIZARD OR CROOK. “You big boob!” He turned fierce- ly on Brady. “ What did you mean by telling me there was nothing doing?” It was not a moment, however, as he fully realized, to waste breath or time in recrimination. ‘There was work to be done, and done in a hurry, too; for already the red glow had in- creased to a menacing glare; and be- fore the battalion chief could recall the apparatus he had started away, flames were shooting from the upper windows. The scene, shortly before so quiet, was quickly transformed into one of feverish activity. Above the staccato roar of the engines could be heard the hoarse bawling of orders as the fire captains, trumpets to lips, led on their men to the assault. Across the street stretched lengths of hose like great, writhing serpents, and the hiss of the water as it met the blaze was intermingled with the din of the axes chopping a way to better points of vantage. : The police reserves came up on a run to stretch their lines and hold back the curious crowds. Driven out by the advancing flames, the boarders at No. 86, and at the ad- joining houses along the block, came hurrying down the steps, clutching to their breasts or dragging behind them clumsy bundles of such of their belong- ings as in their haste and panic they had elected to save. Ramsdell, meantime, forgotten by everybody in the confusion, stood close to the battalion chief, watching the progress of the conflagration. So engrossed was he with the spec- tacle, indeed, that, removing his pecul- iar, heavy-lensed glasses in order to polish them, he quite neglected -to re- store them to his nose, but continued to rub them absently, while he squinted at the fire with his colorless, near- sighted eyes. He was brought abruptly out of his preoccupation, however, by a none too gentle push on the shoulder as an alert figure in business clothes and a slouch- hat, who had come racing up in a big 203 red car, forced his way through the crowd to the side of the battalion chief. It was the famous head of the de- partment — probably the greatest fire- fighter in history. One experienced glance he cast at the burning building, then issued terse di- rections to his subordinate. “Let No. 86 go,” he said. ‘ There’s no chance of saving it, and everybody’s out by this time, I suppose; so center all your work on Nos. 84 and 88.” The battalion chief was just about to turn to give the requisite orders when E,. Bolingbroke Ramsdell, who had re- adjusted his glasses, sprang forward. “No! No!” he interposed frenzied- ly. “ You mustn’t stop on 86 yet! There’s a woman still inside who has got to be saved! ”’ “A woman?” Both the fire offi- cials turned on him _ peremptorily. “ Where is she? ” “In an inside room on the top floor. She is hemmed in -both back and front by the flames, and there is no way for her to get to the roof!” “T don’t believe it!” blurted out the battalion chief. ‘‘ The landlady her- self told me that all her boarders were out of the house and accounted for.” “ But she. is wrong, I tell you!” in- sisted Ramsdell passionately. ‘‘ Great Jehoshaphat! Can’t I see the poor girl for myself, and the awful plight she is in?” “See her?” The battalion chief’s gaze searched the impenetrable wall of flame and smoke which swept the front of the top story. “ Nutty,” he mut- tered to his superior in a rapid aside. Then, raising his trumpet, he began bellowing out directions calling back ~his men from the doomed No. 86. Under his arm, quick as a flash, darted Ramsdell, and, evading a dozen hands stretched out to stop him, dashed up the stoop and into the open door- way of No. 84. The next the watchers below saw of him he was on the roof of the building, an ax in his hand, snatched on his way up from an unsuspecting fireman, his oO cComicbooks CO