instead of holding it to the shavings, he threw it away.
For one instant his conscience had triumphed; but it was only for an instant.
He lighted another match, hurriedly this time, as if fearing he might not have the courage to apply it, and when it was fully on fire muttered to himself:
"I'll drop it an' take the chances. If she burns, it's a go, an' if she don't, I've done as much as I've threatened."
He suited the action to the words, and not daring to wait for the result, ran hurriedly into the deserted street.
It was his intention to continue on, halting only when having arrived at his home; but now that the mischief might have been done he was so thoroughly alarmed that it seemed impossible he could leave the vicinity.
Partially concealing himself in a doorway he waited almost breathlessly, hoping fervently the match had been extinguished when it fell, and as the seconds passed, each one seeming a full minute, a great hope came into his heart, for he believed chance had decreed that the fire should not be kindled.
Then a stifled cry of fear burst from his lips, for he had suddenly seen a bright tongue of flame leap up, and he knew the crime had been committed in fact as well as spirit.
At this moment he remembered the words of his friends from Brooklyn as distinctly as if they had but just been spoken, and like a flash came the realization that perhaps he had done that which would result in the loss of human life.
The flames increased until they were reflected on the wall of brick in the rear, and it seemed to Jip as if the shed must already be in a blaze.
"Why don't somebody send in an alarm?" he said, speaking aloud in his anxiety, although there was no one at hand to hear him. "Seth an' Dan will be burned to death if the engines don't get here mighty soon!"
Then came the thought, for he believed the fire was already beyond control, that it would be impossible to rescue the boys – that he was indeed a murderer, for it seemed to him as if an exceedingly long time had elapsed since he first saw the tiny ray of light.
Now his one desire was that an alarm might be sent in, yet no one could be seen or heard in either direction.
Each moment of delay increased the peril, and when he had waited in most painful suspense for ten seconds it was impossible to remain inactive any longer.
Far down the street a red light could be seen, denoting the location of a fire-alarm station, and he ran toward it as he had never run before, so nervous when he would have opened the outer door of the box that for two or three seconds it was impossible to turn the handle.
When he did so the sound of the warning gong, intended to notify the policeman on that beat that the box was being opened, caused him to start back in alarm, for he fancied the officers of justice were already on his trail.
Jip had many times seen a call rung in, and in the merest fraction of time he recovered from his fears as he understood the cause of this sudden noise.
Then he opened the outer door and pulled down the lever once; and from that instant until the first engine appeared, which was Ninety-four, it seemed to him as if an hour had passed, although in fact the company of which Seth considered himself in a certain degree a member, had responded to the call in less than three minutes.
Jip was standing by the signal-box when a rumble and roar in the distance told of the coming of Ninety-four, and he watched as if fascinated the fountain of sparks which went up from the smoke-stack; listened to the sharp clicking of the horses' shoes on the pavement; to the din of the gongs, and the cries of startled pedestrians in the rear – hearing everything, seeing everything, but yet all the while as if in a dream.
Nearer and nearer came the puffing engine drawn by three plunging horses as if it had been no more than a toy, and then, his brain still in a whirl, Jip heard as if from afar off, the question:
"Where's the fire?"
"In Baxter's carpenter shop!"
The engine was some distance beyond him by the time he had answered the question, and from the opposite direction he heard the rush of a second on-coming machine; then here and there the rumble of wheels and hoof-beats of horses driven at their utmost speed, until it seemed as if by that one pull on the lever of the signal-box he had aroused the entire city.
Now Seth and Dan would be saved if they were yet alive.
At that moment there was no hope in Jip's mind that they could still be living.
It was as if he had lighted that match an hour ago, so slowly had the seconds passed, and with the thought of them as dead – burned to death through his act – came wildest terror.
He fancied every fireman on Ninety-four had recognized him as they rode past in such mad haste, and knew him to be the one who had committed the crime.
There was no place in his mind for any thought save that of his own danger, and instantly he started at full speed down the street, never daring to so much as glance behind him, although no man pursued.
When the "joker," which is the name given by firemen to the combination-bell, in Ninety-four's house rang out the number of the call sent in by Jip, and as the horses, released by the mechanical trip moved by the joker, dashed out of their stalls, 'Lish Davis believed he knew beyond a question to what particular building they were summoned.
Instantly that which Seth had told him came into his mind, and with it the painful thought that perhaps by his own neglect he had contributed to what might be a fatal disaster.
"And I never so much as warned the policeman on this beat!" he said to himself as he leaped to his seat on the engine, snapped into place the belt that would hold him there, and with a quick jerk on the reins released the harness-catch.
Ninety-Four had seldom left the house more quickly, and certainly the horses were never urged to a higher rate of speed than now, when 'Lish Davis charged himself with criminal neglect.
During the minute and a half which intervened before they reached the station from which the alarm had been sent, the driver of Ninety-four conceived an absolute affection for the boy who had so persistently followed up his idea of becoming a fireman, and, prompted by the prickings of his own conscience, perhaps, he muttered to himself:
"The kid shall go into the Department if I can put him there, providing it so be we find – "
He did not finish the sentence, for at that instant it was to 'Lish Davis as if he must in a certain degree take upon himself the results of this night's work.
When they dashed past the station he needed not Jip's reply to tell him whence came the glow of light which could now be seen reflected on the taller buildings, and Ninety-four got water a full two minutes before any other engine.
"That little bootblack, Seth Bartlett, sleeps in the shed behind the shop," 'Lish called hoarsely as the men ran swiftly through the lumber-yard, and, hearing the words even above the tooting of whistles, the sounding of gongs from the on-coming engines, and the puffing of steam, Jerry Walters cried:
"I'll look out for him, 'Lish!"
Every man heard the driver's cry, and knew that the amateur fireman was in danger.
They also knew where he slept, having been given by the boy himself a description of his home, and with the first crash of Jerry's axe as he burst in the door of the shed, the
