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

Now, it must not be supposed that this was the end of Frank’s career. In truth, it was only the beginning of it, for Frank Willders was one of those men who know how to make a good use of money.

His first proceeding after the honeymoon was to take a small farm in the suburbs of London. He had a tendency for farming, and he resolved at least to play at it if he could make nothing by it. There was a small cottage on the farm, not far from the dwelling-house. This was rented by Willie, and into it he afterwards introduced Ziza Cattley as Mrs William Willders. The widow inhabited another small cottage not a hundred yards distant from it, but she saw little of her own home except at night, being constrained to spend most of her days with one or other of her “boys.”

As the farm was near a railway station, Willie went to town every morning to business—Saturdays and Sundays excepted—and returned every evening. His business prospered and so did Mr Tippet’s. That eccentric old gentleman had, like Mr Auberly, been ruined by the great fire, but he did not care—so he said—because the other business kept him going! He was not aware that Willie’s engineering powers turned in all the money of that other business, and Willie took care never to enlighten him, but helped him as of old in planning, inventing, and discovering, to the end of his days.

There was one grand feature which Frank introduced into his suburban establishment which we must not omit to mention. This was a new patent steam fire-engine. He got it not only for the protection of his own farm, but, being a philanthropic man, for the benefit of the surrounding district, and he trained the men of his farm and made them expert firemen. Willie was placed in command of this engine, so that the great wish of his early years was realised! There was not a fire within ten miles round them at which Willie’s engine was not present; and the brothers continued for many years to fight the flames together in that neighbourhood.

As for stout George Dale, and sturdy Baxmore, and facetious Joe Corney, with his comrades Moxey, Williams, and Mason, and Sam Forest, those heroes continued to go on the even tenor of their way, fighting more battles with the flames in six months than were fought with our human enemies by all our redcoats and blue-jackets in as many years, and without making any fuss about it, too, although danger was the element in which they lived, and wounds or death might have met them any day of the year.

For all we know to the contrary, they may be carrying on the war while we pen this chronicle, and, unless more vigorous measures are adopted for preventing fire than have been taken in time past, there can be no question that these stout-hearted men will in time to come have more occasion than ever for—fighting the flames.