Fighting the Flames by R. M. Ballantyne (ebook reader that looks like a book .TXT) 📕

Wending his way through the crowded streets, Joe soon reached the door of the house in Russell Square which belonged to Mrs Denman.

The good lady had made use of a cab after quitting Miss Deemas, so that she was at home and seated in a luxuriously easy chair in her splendidly furnished drawing-room when the fireman applied the knocker.

“Does Mrs Denman stop here, my dear?” said Joe to the smart servant-girl who opened the door.

“Yes,” replied the girl, “and she told me to show you up to the drawing-room whenever you came. Step this way.”

Joe pulled off his cap and followed the maid, who ushered him into the presence of the little old lady.

“Pray take a chair,” said Mrs Denman, pointing to one which had evidently been placed close to hers on purpose. “You are a fireman, I understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” replied Joe, “I’ve bin more nor tin years at the business now.”

“You must find it a very warm business, I should imagine,” said Mrs Denman, with a smile.

“True for ye, ma’am. My body’s bin a’most burnt off my sowl over and over again; but it’s cowld enough, too, sometimes, specially when ye’ve got to watch the premises after the fire’s bin put out of a cowld winter night, as I had to do at your house, ma’am.”

Mrs Denman started and turned pale.

“What! d’you mean to say that you were at the fire in—in Holborn that night?”

“Indeed I do, ma’am. Och! but ye must be ill, ma’am, for yer face is as white as a ghost. Shure but it’s red now. Let me shout for some wather for ye, ma’am.”

“No, no, my good man,” said Mrs Denman, recovering herself a little. “I—I—the fact is, it did not occur to me that you had been at that fire, else I would never—but no matter. You didn’t see—see—any one saved, did you?”

“See any one saved, is it? Shure, I did, an’ yerself among the lot. Och! but it’s Frank Willders as knows how to do a thing nately. He brought ye out o’ the windy, ma’am, on his showlder as handy as if ye’d bin a carpet-bag, or a porkmanty, ma’am—”

“Hush, man!” exclaimed poor Mrs Denman, blushing scarlet, for she was a very sensitive old lady; “I cannot bear to think of it. But how could—you know it was me? It—it—might have been anything—a bundle, you know.”

“Not by no manes,” replied the candid Joe. “We seed your shape quite plain, ma’am, for the blankit was tight round ye.”

Mrs Denman covered her face with her hand at this point, and resting her elbow on the arm of her chair, reflected that the thing was beyond remedy, and that, as the man had come and was now looking at her, matters could not be worse; so she resolved to carry out her original intention, and question him as to the best course of action in the event of fire.

“My good man,” she said, “I have taken the liberty of asking you to come here to tell me what I should do to guard against fire in future.”

Joe rubbed his nose and looked at the ground; then he stroked his chin and looked at the old lady; then a look of intelligence lighted up his expressive countenance as he said abruptly—

“Is yer house an’ furniture insured, ma’am?”

“No, it is not,” replied Mrs Denman. “I have never insured in my life, because although I hear of fires every day in London, it has never occurred to me until lately that there was any probability of my house being burned. I know it was very foolish of me, but I shall see to having it done directly.”

“That’s right, ma’am,” said Joe, with an approving nod. “If you seed the heaps an’ heaps o’ splendid furnitur’ an’ goods an’ buildin’s as is burnt every day a’most in London, an’ lost to the owners ’cause they grudged the few shillin’s of insurance, or ’cause they was careless an’ didn’t b’lieve a fire would ever come to them, no matter how many might come to other folk, you’d insure yer house an’ furnitur’ first thing i’ the mornin’, ma’am.”

“I have no doubt you say what is quite correct, Mr Corney, and I will certainly attend to this matter in future; but I am more particularly anxious to know how I should act if the house in which I live were to take fire.”

“Get out of it as fast as possible,” said Joe promptly, “an’ screech out fire! till yer sides is sore.”

“But suppose,” said Mrs Denman, with a faint smile, “that the fire is burning in the stair, and the house full of smoke, what am I to do?”

“Och! I see yer drift now, ma’am,” said Joe, with a knowing look. “Av it’s that what ye wants to know, I’ll just, with your lave, ma’am, give ye a small discourse on the subjic’.”

Joe cleared his throat, and began with the air of a man who knows what he is talking about.

“It’s as well, ma’am, to begin by tryin’ to prevent yer house ketchin’ fire—prevention bein’ better nor cure. If ye’d kape clear o’ that, there’s two or three small matters to remimber. First of all, take oncommon good care o’ your matches, an’ don’t let the childer git at ’em, if you’ve any in the house. Would you believe it, ma’am, there was above fifty fires in London last year that was known to ha’ bin set alight by childers playin’ wid matches, or by careless servants lettin’ ’em drop an’ treadin’ on ’em?”

“How many?” asked Mrs Denman in surprise.

“Fifty, ma’am.”

“Dear me! you amaze me, fireman; I had supposed there were not so many fires in London in a year.”

“A year!” exclaimed Joe. “Why, there’s nearly three fires, on the average, every twinty-four hours in London, an’ that’s about a thousand fires in the year, ma’am.”

“Are you sure of what you say, fireman?”

“Quite sure, ma’am; ye can ax Mr Braidwood if ye don’t b’lieve me.”

Mrs Denman, still in a state of blank amazement, said that she did not doubt him, and bade him go on.

“Well, then,” resumed Joe, “look well arter yer matches, an’ niver read in bed; that’s the way hundreds o’ houses get a light. When you light a candle with a bit o’ paper, ma’am, don’t throw it on the floor an’ tramp on it an’ think it’s out, for many a time there’s a small spark left, an’ the wind as always blows along the floor sets it up an’ it kitches somethin’, and there you are—blazes an’ hollerin’ an’ ingins goin’ full swing in no time. Then, ma’am, never go for to blow out yer gas, an’ if there’s an escape don’t rest till ye get