The New Boy at Hilltop, and Other Stories

"Don't know. Here's young Jasper crying like a good one. What's the trouble, Jasper? Did you get hurt?"

But the boy apparently didn't even hear them.

"Lost his things, probably," suggested Grafton, "and feels it. Never mind, kid? you'll get some more."

"I want every boy out of the building!" cried the doctor. But his voice was almost drowned in the babel of cries and shouts and laughter.

"Come on, Jasper," said Kenneth, trying to raise him to his feet. "We've got to get out."

For the first time he caught a glimpse of the boy's face. It was white and drawn and horror stricken.

"What's the matter?" cried Kenneth in alarm. Young Hendrick's lips moved but Kenneth could not distinguish the whispered words.

"Eh? What's that? Speak louder! You're all right now! Don't be scared! What is it?" And Kenneth bent his head as the younger boy clung to him convulsively.

"Mister Whipple!"

Kenneth barely caught the whispered words.

"Mr. Whipple," he muttered. "What does he mean?" He pulled the lad's body around so that he could see his face in the smoke-dimmed light. "What about him, Jasper? He's safe, isn't he?"

The white face shook from side to side.

"What does he say?" cried Grafton. "Whipple? Isn't he down? Where is he?"

"He must be—!"

Kenneth paused, his own face paling, and looked fearsomely toward the stairs down which the gray-brown smoke was floating wraithlike. Then his eyes met Grafton's and he read his own horror reflected there.

"Jasper's room is next to Mr. Whipple's," said Grafton hoarsely. "He must have seen something! Jasper, is Mr. Whipple up there now?"

The lad's head nodded weakly. Then he broke again into great dry sobs that shook him from head to foot. Kenneth seized him beneath the shoulders and dragged him a few yards nearer the door. There he put him down.

"Don't cry, Jasper," he whispered kindly. "It's all right; we'll save him!"

For an instant he looked about him. Through the doors the boys were pushing their way outward, protesting, laughing, excitedly.

Of the faculty Dr. Randall alone was in sight. One other instant Kenneth hesitated. Then with a bound he was halfway up the first flight.

"Who's that going up there?" cried the doctor. "Here, come back instantly!"

But Kenneth did not hear, or, hearing, paid no heed. He was at the second floor, the evil-smelling smoke thick about him, blinding his eyes and smarting his throat. Above him was a strange lurid glare and the roaring of the flames. For a moment his heart failed him and he leaned weak and panting against the banister. Then a voice sounded in his ears.

"It's no use, Garwood," cried Grafton. "We can't get up there."

"We'll try," was the answer.

Bending low, his sleeve over his mouth, Kenneth rushed the next flight. Grafton was at his heels. At the top Kenneth crouched against the last step and squinted painfully down the corridor in the direction of Mr. Whipple's room and the flames. The heat was stifling and the smoke rolled toward them in great red waves. Grafton, choking, coughing, crouched at Kenneth's side.

"We can't reach him," he muttered. "The fire has cut him off."

It seemed true. Mr. Whipple's room was at the far end and between his door and the stairway the flames were rioting wildly, licking up the woodwork and playing over the lathes from which the plaster was crumbling away. Kenneth's heart sank and for an instant he thought he was going to faint. Everything grew black before him and his head settled down on his outstretched arm. Then Grafton was shaking him by the shoulder and his senses returned.

"Come on!" cried Grafton. "Let's get out of this while we can! We'll be burned alive in a minute!" There was panic in his voice and he tugged nervously at Kenneth's arm.

At that moment a great expanse of plaster fell from the ceiling some thirty feet away and the flames glared luridly through the corridor, making everything for a brief moment as light as day. From below came calls, but Kenneth did not hear them.

"Look!" he cried, seizing Grafton's arm. "On the floor! Do you see?"

"Yes," shouted Grafton. "It's Mr. Whipple! Can we get him?"

"I'm going to try," was the calm reply. "Will you come with me?"

For a moment the two boys looked into each other's eyes, squinting painfully in the acrid smoke. The flames crackled and roared in their ears. The strained, terror-stricken look passed from Grafton's face. His eyes lighted and he even smiled a little.

"Come on," he said simply.

"Wait!" Kenneth leaned down so that his face was against the spindles and took a deep breath. There was a current of clearer air arising from the well and, although it smarted in his lungs, it gave him relief. Grafton followed his example. Then, for they realized that there was no time to lose, with one accord they rushed, stooping, down the corridor into the face of the flames.

Mr. Whipple lay stretched face downward on the floor where he had fallen when overcome by the smoke and, as is more than likely, his terror. He was in his night clothes and one hand grasped a small satchel. Behind him the floor was afire scarcely a yard away. The thirty feet from the stairs to where he lay seemed as many yards to the rescuers, and the heat grew fiercer at every step. But they gained the goal, fighting for breath, bending their heads against the savage onslaughts of the flames, and seized the instructor's arms. Whether he was alive there was no time to ascertain. There was time for nothing save to strive to drag him toward the stairway. With tightly closed eyes, from which the smarting tears rolled down their faces, and sobbing breaths, they struggled back.

But if it had been hard going it was trebly hard returning. The instructor was not a large man nor a heavy one, but now he seemed to weigh tons. Their feet slipped on the plaster-sprinkled boards and their hearts hammered in their throats. Ten feet they made; and then, as though angry at being deprived of their prey, the flames burst with a sudden roar through the melting partition a few feet behind them and strove to conquer them with a scorching breath. Kenneth staggered to his knees under its fury and Grafton gave a cry of anguish and despair. But the fiery wave receded and they struggled desperately on, fighting now for their own lives as well as for that of the instructor.

Ten feet more and the worst was passed. A frenzied rush for the stairway and safety was in sight. Half falling, half stumbling, they went down the first few steps to the landing at the turn, Mr. Whipple's inert body thumping along between them. There, with faces held close to the boards, they lay drinking in grateful breaths of the smoke-poisoned air, which, after what they had been inhaling, was fresh and sweet.

Then, above the booming of the fire, voices reached them, hoarse, anxious voices, and white faces peered up at them through the smoke from the corridor below.

"All right!" called Kenneth, but, to his surprise, his words were only hoarse whispers. Struggling to his knees, he seized Mr. Whipple's arm and strove to go on. But Grafton offered no assistance. He lay motionless where he had thrown himself on the landing.

"Come on!" croaked Kenneth impatiently, and tugged at his double burden. Then the crimson light went suddenly out and he subsided limply against the banisters just as the rescuers dashed up to them.

When Kenneth came to a few minutes later he was being carried across the campus. Near at hand a fire engine throbbed and roared, sending showers of sparks into the winter darkness. Behind him a red glare threw long moving shadows across the grass. In his ears were shouts and commands and a shrill whistling. Then he lost consciousness again.

VI

Kenneth lay in bed in Dr. Randall's spare chamber. His left hand was bandaged and a wet cloth lay across his closed eyes. A window was open and the lowered shade billowed softly up and down, letting into the darkened room quick splashes of sunlight. From without came the cheerful patter of melting snow upon the sill.

Kenneth had had his breakfast—how long ago he could not say, since he had slept since then—and had learned all the exciting news; that Lower House was so badly burned that there was no question of repairing it; that Mr. Whipple had been sent to the hospital at Lynnminster, seriously but not dangerously hurt; that Grafton Hyde had received no damage and was about this forenoon wearing a strangely blank expression due to the loss of his eyebrows; and that King, to whose disregard of the rules the fire had been due, had, previous rumors to the contrary, escaped unharmed.

Kenneth's informant had been the school doctor, who had also imparted the information that Kenneth's injuries were trifling, a couple of scorched fingers and a pair of badly inflamed eyes, but that nevertheless he would kindly spend the day in bed, "as heroes are scarce these days and must be well looked after when found."

There came a soft tapping at the door and Kenneth peeked eagerly out from under the bandage as Grafton Hyde entered and tiptoed across the floor. Kenneth looked for a moment and grinned; then he chuckled; then he threw an arm across his face and gave way to laughter unrestrained. Grafton laughed, too, though somewhat ruefully.

"Don't I look like a fool?" he asked.

Kenneth regained his composure with a gasp.

"I—I didn't mean to be rude," he said contritely, "but—"