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

it will please you; but somewhere near London Bridge is not a very definite address.”

“Oh, but Willie Willders knows it,” said Loo.

“But where is Willie Willders?” objected her father.

“Perhaps at home; perhaps at Mr Tippet’s place.”

“Well, we shall soon find out,” said Mr Auberly, rising and ringing the bell.

Hopkins answered the summons.

Stiff, thin, tall, sedate, powdered, superfine Hopkins, how different from the personage we saw but lately plunging like a maniac at the fire-bell! Could it have been thee, Hopkins? Is it possible that anything so spruce, dignified, almost stately, could have fallen so very low? We fear it is too true, for human nature not unfrequently furnishes instances of tremendous contrast, just as material nature sometimes furnishes the spectacle of the serene summer sky being engulfed in the black thunderstorm!

“Hopkins!” said Mr Auberly, handing him a slip of paper, “go to this address and ask for the boy William Willders; if he is there, bring him here immediately; if not, find out where he is, search for him, and bring him here without delay. Take a cab.”

Hopkins folded the paper delicately with both his little fingers projecting very much, as though they wished it to be distinctly understood that they had no connection whatever with the others, and would not on any account assist the low-born and hard-working forefingers and thumbs in such menial employment. Hopkins’s nose appeared to be affected with something of the same spirit. Then Hopkins bowed—that is to say, he broke across suddenly at the middle, causing his stiff upper man to form an obtuse angle with his rigid legs for one moment, recovered his perpendicular—and retired.

Oh! Hopkins, how difficult to believe that thy back was once as round as a hoop, and thy legs bent at acute angles whilst thou didst lay violent hands on—well, well; let bygones be bygones, and let us all, in kindness to thee, learn the song which says—

“Teach, O teach me to forget.”

Hailing a cab with the air of six emperors rolled into one, Hopkins drove to Mr Tippet’s residence, where he learned that Willie had gone home, so he followed him up, and soon found himself at Notting Hill before the door of Mrs Willders’ humble abode. The door was opened by Willie himself, who stared in some surprise at the stately visitor.

“Is William Willders at ’ome?” said Hopkins.

“I rather think he is,” replied Willie, with a grin; “who shall I say calls on him—eh? You’d better send up your card.”

Hopkins frowned, but, being a good-natured man, he immediately smiled, and said he would walk in.

“I think,” said Willie, interposing his small person in the way, “that you’d as well stop where you are, for there’s a invalid in the drawing-room, and all the other rooms is engaged ’cept the kitchen, which of course I could not show you into. Couldn’t you deliver your message? I could manage to carry it if it ain’t too heavy.”

In a state of uncertainty as to how far this was consistent with his dignity, Hopkins hesitated for a moment, but at length delivered his message, with which Willie returned to the parlour.

Here, on the little sofa, lay the tall form of Frank Willders, arrayed in an old dressing-gown, and with one of his legs bandaged up and motionless. His face was pale, and he was suffering great pain, but a free-and-easy smile was on his lips, for beside him sat a lady and a young girl, the latter of whom was afflicted with strong sympathy, but appeared afraid to show it. Mrs Willders, with a stocking and knitting-wires in her hands, sat on a chair at the head of the bed, looking anxious, but hopeful and mild. An open Bible which lay on a small table at her side, showed how she had been engaged before the visitors entered.

“My good sir,” said the lady, with much earnestness of voice and manner, “I assure you it grieves me to the heart to see you lying in this state, and I’m quite sure it grieves Emma too, and all your friends. When I think of the risks you run and the way you dash up these dreadful fire—fire—things—what-d’ye-call-ums. What do you call them?”

“Fire-escapes, ma’am,” answered Frank, with a smile.

“Ah, fire-escapes (how you ever come down them alive is a mystery to me, I’m sure!) But as I was saying, it makes one shudder to think of; and—and—how does your leg feel now?” said Miss Tippet, forgetting what she had intended to say.

“Pretty well,” replied Frank; “the doctor tells me it has broken without splintering, and that I’ll be all right in a few weeks, and fit for duty again.”

“Fit for duty, young man!” exclaimed Miss Tippet; “do you mean to say that you will return to your dreadful profession when you recover? Have you not received warning enough?”

“Why, madam,” said Frank, “some one must look after the fires, you know, else London would be in ashes in a few months; and I like the work.”

“Like the work!” cried Miss Tippet, in amazement; “like to be almost smoked to death, and burned alive, and tumbled off roofs, and get upset off what’s-its-names, and fall down fire—fire—things, and break all your legs and arms!”

“Well—no, I don’t like all that,” said Frank, laughing; “but I like the vigour and energy that are called forth in the work, and I like the object of the work, which is to save life and property. Why,” exclaimed Frank enthusiastically, “it has all the danger and excitement of a soldier’s life without the bloody work, and with better ends in view.”

“Nay, nay, Frank,” said the peaceful Mrs Willders, “you must not say ‘better ends,’ because it is a great and glorious thing to defend one’s native land.”

“A very just observation,” said Miss Tippet, nodding approval.

“Why, mother, who would have expected to hear you standing up for the red-coats in this fashion?” said Frank.

“I stand up for the blue-jackets too,” observed Mrs Willders meekly; “they fight for their country as well.”

“True, mother,” rejoined Frank; “but I did not refer to ultimate ends, I only thought of the immediate results in connection with those engaged. The warrior fights, and, in so doing, destroys life and property. The fireman fights, and in doing so protects and preserves both.”

“Hear! hear!” interrupted Willie; “but the copy-book says ‘Comparisons are odiows!’ don’t it? Mother, here’s a fathom and two inches or so of humanity as wants me to go with him to Mr Auberly. I s’pose Frank can get along without me for a little while—eh?”

“Certainly, my son; why does he want you?”

“Don’t know. P’raps he’s goin’ to offer to make me his secretary. But you don’t seem at all alarmed at the prospect of my being carried off by a flunkey.”

“You’ll come back, dearie, I doubt not.”

“Don’t you? Oh, very well; then I’ll just look after myself. If I don’t return, I’ll advertise myself in the Times. Good-bye.”

Willie returned to the door and announced that he was ready to go.

“But where is William?” asked Hopkins.

“Mister William Willders stands before you,” said the boy, placing his hand on his heart and making a bow. “Come now, Long-legs,” he added, seizing Hopkins by the arm and pushing him downstairs and into the cab. Leaping in after him he shut the door with a bang. “Now then, cabby, all right, Beverly Square, full split; sixpence extra if you do it within the half!”

Away they went, and in a few seconds were in the Mall driving at a rattling pace.

“See that house?” asked Willie, so suddenly as to startle Hopkins, who was quite overwhelmed by the vigour and energy of his young companion.

“Eh! which! the one with the porch before the door?”

“No, no, stoopid! the old red-brick house with the limbs of a vine all over the front of it, and the skeleton of a Virginia creeper on the wall.”

“Yes, I see it,” said Hopkins, looking out.

“Ah, a friend o’ mine lives there. I’m on wisitin’ terms there, I am. Now then, mind your eye, pump-handle,” cried Willie; “the turn’s rather sharp—hallo!”

As they swung round into the Bayswater Road the cab came in contact with a butcher’s cart, which, being the lighter vehicle, was nearly upset. No serious damage resulted, however, and soon after they drew up at the door of the house next Mr Auberly’s; for that gentleman still occupied the residence of his friend.

“Master Willders,” said Hopkins, ushering him into the presence of Mr Auberly, who still sat at the head of the couch.

Willie nodded to Loo and then to her father.

“Boy,” said the latter, beckoning Willie to approach, “my daughter wishes me to go and visit a poor family near London Bridge. She tells me you know their name and address.”

“The fairy, you know,” said Loo, explaining.

“Ah, the Cattleys,” answered Willie.

“Yes,” resumed Mr Auberly. “Will you conduct me to their abode?”

In some surprise Willie said that he would be happy to do so, and then asked Loo how she did.

While Mr Auberly was getting ready, Willie was permitted to converse with Loo and Mrs Rose, who was summoned to attend her young mistress. Presently Mr Auberly returned, bade Mrs Rose be very careful of the invalid, and then set off with Willie.

At first the boy felt somewhat awed by the remarkably upright figure that stalked in silence at his side, but as they continued to thread their way through the streets he ventured to attempt a little conversation.

“Weather’s improvin’, sir,” said Willie, looking up. “It is,” replied Mr Auberly, looking down in surprise at the boldness of his small guide.

“Good for the country, sir,” observed Willie.

Mr Auberly, being utterly ignorant of rural matters, thought it best to say nothing to this.

We may add that Willie knew just as little (or as much), and had only ventured the remark because he had often heard it made in every possible variety of weather, and thought that it would be a safe observation, replete, for all he knew to the contrary, with hidden wisdom.

There was silence after this for some time.

“D’you know Mr Tippet well, sir?” inquired Willie suddenly.

“Ye—yes; oh yes, I know him pretty well.”

“Ah, he’s a first-rater,” observed Willie, with a look of enthusiasm; “you’ve no notion what a trump he is. Did you hear ever of his noo machine for makin’ artificial butter?”

“No,” said Mr Auberly, somewhat impatiently.

“Ah, it’s a wonderful invention, that is, sir.”

“Boy,” said Mr Auberly, “will you be so good as to walk behind me?”

“Oh, cer’nly, sir,” said Willie, with a profound bow, as he fell to the rear.

They walked on in silence until they came to the vicinity of the Monument, when Mr Auberly turned round and asked Willie which way they were to go now.

“Right back again,” said Willie.

“How, boy; what do you mean?”

“We’ve overshot the mark about half a mile, sir. But, please, I thought you must be wishin’ to go somewhere else first, as you led the way.”

“Lead the way, now, boy,” said Mr Auberly, with a stern look.

Willie obeyed, and in a few minutes they were groping in the dark regions underground which Mr Cattley and his family inhabited. With some difficulty they found the door, and stood in the presence of “the fairy.”

Thin though the fairy had been when Willie saw her last, she might have been called fat compared with the condition in which they now found her. She appeared like a mere shadow, with a delicate skin thrown over it. A bad transparency would have been more substantial in appearance. She lay alone on her lonely pallet with a farthing candle beside her, which cast a light sufficient only to make darkness visible. Being near the poor invalid, it caused her large dark eyes to glitter in an awful manner.

Willie at once forgot his companion, and running up to the fairy, seized her hand, and asked her how she did.

“Pretty well, Willie. It’s kind of you to come and see me so often.”

“Not a bit, Ziza; you know I like it; besides, I’ve only come