Beautiful Joe, Marshall Saunders [historical books to read .TXT] 📗

his parents were staying at

the hotel for a few weeks, while their house was being repaired. He had

his Irish setter, Brisk, with him, and a handsome dog he was, as he

stood waving his silky tail in the sunlight. Charlie patted me, and then

he and his dog went into the hotel. I turned into the stable yard. It

was a small, choked-up place, and as I picked my way under the cabs and

wagons standing in the yard, I wondered why the hotel people didn't buy

some of the old houses near by, and tear them down, and make a stable

yard worthy of such a nice hotel. The hotel horses were just getting

rubbed down after their day's work, and others were coming in. The men

were talking and laughing, and there was no sign of strange animals, so

I went around to the back of the yard. Here they were, in an empty cow

stable, under a hay loft. There were two little ponies tied up in a

stall, two goats beyond them, and dogs and monkeys in strong traveling

cages. I stood in the doorway and stared at them. I was sorry for the

dogs to be shut up on such a lovely evening, but I suppose their master

was afraid of their getting lost, or being stolen, if he let them loose.

 

They all seemed very friendly. The ponies turned around and looked at me

with their gentle eyes, and then went on munching their hay. I wondered

very much where the gander was, and went a little farther into the

stable. Something white raised itself up out of the brownest pony's

crib, and there was the gander close up beside the open mouth of his

friend. The monkeys make a jabbering noise, and held on to the bars of

their cage with their little black hands, while they looked out at me.

The dogs sniffed the air, and wagged their tails, and tried to put their

muzzles through the bars of their cage. I liked the dogs best, and I

wanted to see the one they called Bob, so I went up quite close to them.

There were two little white dogs, something like Billy, two mongrel

spaniels, an Irish terrier, and a brown dog asleep in the corner, that I

knew must be Bob. He did look a little like me, but he was not quite so

ugly, for he had his ears and his tail.

 

While I was peering through the bars at him, a man came in the stable.

He noticed me the first thing, but instead of driving me out, he spoke

kindly to me, in a language that I did not understand. So I knew that he

was the Italian. How glad the animals were to see him! The gander

fluttered out of his nest, the ponies pulled at their halters, the dogs

whined and tried to reach his hands to lick them, and the monkeys

chattered with delight. He laughed and talked back to them in queer,

soft-sounding words. Then he took out of a bag on his arm, bones for the

dogs, nuts and cakes for the monkeys, nice, juicy carrots for the

ponies, some green stuff for the goats, and corn for the gander.

 

It was a pretty sight to see the old man feeding his pets, and it made

me feel quite hungry, so I trotted home. I had a run down town again

that evening with Mr. Morris, who went to get something from a shop for

his wife. He never let his boys go to town after tea, so if there were

errands to be done, he or Mrs. Morris went. The town was bright and

lively that evening, and a great many people were walking about and

looking into the shop windows.

 

When we came home, I went into the kennel with Jim, and there I slept

till the middle of the night. Then I started up and ran outside. There

was a distant bell ringing, which we often heard in Fairport, and which

always meant fire.

 

 

 

 

 

       *       *       *       *       *

CHAPTER XXXIV (A FIRE IN FAIRPORT)

I had several times run to a fire with the boys, and knew that there was

always a great noise and excitement. There was a light in the house, so

I knew that somebody was getting up. I don't think--indeed I know, for

they were good boys--that they ever wanted anybody to lose property, but

they did enjoy seeing a blaze, and one of their greatest delights, when

there hadn't been a fire for some time, was to build a bonfire in the

garden.

 

Jim and I ran around to the front of the house and waited. In a few

minutes, some one came rattling at the front door, and I was sure it was

Jack. But it was Mr. Morris, and without a word to us, he set off almost

running toward the town. We followed after him, and as we hurried along

other men ran out from the houses along the streets, and either joined

him, or dashed ahead. They seemed to have dressed in a hurry, and were

thrusting their arms in their coats, and buttoning themselves up as they

went. Some of them had hats and some of them had none, and they all had

their faces toward the great red light that got brighter and brighter

ahead of us. "Where's the fire?" they shouted to each other. "Don't

know--afraid it's the hotel, or the town hall. It's such a blaze. Hope

not. How's the water supply now? Bad time for a fire."

 

It was the hotel. We saw that as soon as we got on to the main street.

There were people all about, and a great noise and confusion, and smoke

and blackness, and up above, bright tongues of flame were leaping

against the sky, Jim and I kept close to Mr. Morris's heels, as he

pushed his way among the crowd. When we got nearer the burning building,

we saw men carrying ladders and axes, and others were shouting

directions, and rushing out of the hotel, carrying boxes and bundles and

furniture in their arms. From the windows above came a steady stream of

articles, thrown among the crowd. A mirror struck Mr. Morris on the arm,

and a whole package of clothes fell on his head and almost smothered

him; but he brushed them aside and scarcely noticed them. There was

something the matter with Mr. Morris--I knew by the worried sound of his

voice when he spoke to any one, I could not see his face, though it was

as light as day about us, for we had got jammed in the crowd, and if I

had not kept between his feet, I should have been trodden to death. Jim,

being larger than I was, had got separated from us.

 

Presently Mr. Morris raised his voice above the uproar, and called, "Is

every one out of the hotel?" A voice shouted back, "I'm going up to

see."

 

"It's Jim Watson, the fireman," cried some one near. "He's risking his

life to go into that pit of flame. Don't go, Watson." I don't think that

the brave fireman paid any attention to this warning, for an instant

later the same voice said, "He's planting his ladder against the third

story. He's bound to go. He'll not get any farther than the second,

anyway."

 

"Where are the Montagues?" shouted Mr. Morris. "Has any one seen the

Montagues?"

 

"Mr. Morris! Mr. Morris!" said a frightened voices and young Charlie

Montague pressed through the people to us. "Where's papa?"

 

"I don't know. Where did you leave him?" said Mr. Morris, taking his

hand and drawing him closer to him. "I was sleeping in his room," said

the boy, "and a man knocked at the door, and said, 'Hotel on fire. Five

minutes to dress and get out,' and papa told me to put on my clothes and

go downstairs, and he ran up to mamma."

 

"Where was she?" asked Mr. Morris, quickly.

 

"On the fourth flat. She and her maid Blanche were up there. You know,

mamma hasn't been well and couldn't sleep, and our room was so noisy

that she moved upstairs where it was quiet." Mr. Morris gave a kind of

groan. "Oh, I'm so hot, and there's such a dreadful noise," said the

little boy, bursting into tears, "and I want mamma." Mr. Morris soothed

him as best he could, and drew him a little to the edge of the crowd.

 

While he was doing this, there was a piercing cry. I could not see the

person making it, but I knew it was the Italian's voice. He was

screaming, in broken English that the fire was spreading to the stables,

and his animals would be burned. Would no one help him to get his

animals out? There was a great deal of confused language Some voices

shouted, "Look after the people first Let the animals go." And others

said, "For shame. Get the horses out." But no one seemed to do anything,

for the Italian went on crying for help, I heard a number of people who

were standing near us say that it had just been found out that several

persons who had been sleeping in the top of the hotel had not got out.

They said that at one of the top windows a poor housemaid was shrieking

for help. Here in the street we could see no one at the upper windows,

for smoke was pouring from them.

 

The air was very hot and heavy, and I didn't wonder that Charlie

Montague felt ill. He would have fallen on the ground if Mr. Morris

hadn't taken him in his arms, and carried him out of the crowd. He put

him down on the brick sidewalk, and unfastened his little shirt, and

left me to watch him, while he held his hands under a leak in a hose

that was fastened to a hydrant near us. He got enough water to dash on

Charlie's face and breast, and then seeing that the boy was reviving, he

sat down on the curbstone and took him on his knee, Charlie lay in his

arms and moaned. He was a delicate boy, and he could not stand rough

usage as the Morris boys could.

 

Mr. Morris was terribly uneasy. His face was deathly white, and he

shuddered whenever there was a cry from the burning building. "Poor

souls--God help them. Oh, this is awful," he said; and then he turned

his eyes from the great sheets of flame and strained the little boy to

his breast. At last there were wild shrieks that I knew came from no

human throats. The fire must have reached the horses. Mr. Morris sprang

up, then sank back again. He wanted to go, yet he could be of no use.

There were hundreds of men standing about, but the fire had spread so

rapidly, and they had so little water to put on it, that there was very

little they could do. I wondered whether I could do anything for the

poor animals. I was not afraid of fire, as most dogs, for one of the

tricks that the Morris boys had taught me was to put out a fire with my

paws. They would throw a piece of lighted paper on the floor, and I

would crush it with my forepaws; and If the blaze was too large for

that, I would drag a bit of old carpet over it and jump on it. I left

Mr, Morris, and ran around the corner of the street to the back of the

hotel. It was not burned as much here as in the front, and in the houses

all around, people were out on their roofs with wet blankets, and some

were standing at the windows watching the fire, or packing up their

belongings ready to move if it should spread to them. There was a narrow

lane running up a short distance toward the hotel, and I started