CHAPTER FIVE.
WILLIE WILLDERS IN DIFFICULTIES.
During the progress of the fire, small Willie Willders was in a state ofthe wildest, we might almost say hilarious, excitement; he regarded notthe loss of property; the fire never struck him in _that_ light. Hislittle body and big spirit rejoiced in the whole affair as a magnificentdisplay of fireworks and heroism.
When the fire burst through the library windows he shouted; when SamForest, the conductor of the fire-escape, saved Mr Auberly and thewomen, he hurrahed; when the tall fireman and Baxmore rescued LouisaAuberly he cheered and cheered again until his shrill voice rose highabove the shouting of the crowd. When the floors gave way he screamedwith delight, and when the roof fell in he shrieked with ecstasy.
Sundry and persevering were the efforts he made to break through thepolice by fair means and foul; but, in his energy, he over-reachedhimself, for he made himself so conspicuous that the police paid specialattention to him, and wherever he appeared he was snubbed and thrustback, so that his great desire to get close to the men while they wereat work was frustrated.
Willie had a brother who was a fireman, and he wished earnestly that hemight recognise him, if present; but he knew that, being attached to thesouthern district of the City, he was not likely to be there, and evenif he were, the men were all so much alike in their uniform, that it wasimpossible at a distance to distinguish one from another. True it isthat his brother was uncommonly tall, and very strong; but as the Londonfiremen were all picked men, many of them were very tall, and all ofthem were strong.
Not until the last engine left the ground, did Willie Willders think itadvisable to tear himself away, and hasten to his home in Notting Hill,where he found his mother sitting up for him in a state of considerableanxiety. She forebore to question him that night, however.
When Willie appeared next morning--or rather, the same morning, for itwas nearly four o'clock when he went to bed--he found his mother sittingby the fire knitting a sock.
Mrs Willders was a widow, and was usually to be found seated by thefire, knitting a sock, or darning one, or mending some portion of maleattire.
"So you were at a fire last night, Willie?" said the widow.
"Yes, I was," replied the boy, going up to his mother, and giving herwhat he styled a "roystering" kiss, which she appeared to like, althoughshe was scarcely able to bear it, being thin and delicately formed, andsomewhat weak from bad health.
"No lives lost, I hope, Willie?"
"No; there ain't often lives lost when Sam Forest, the fire-escape-man,is there. You know Forest, mother, the man that we've heard so much of?Ah, it _was_ sitch fun! You've no notion! It would have made yousplit your sides wi' laughin' if you'd seen Sam come out o' the smokecarryin' the master o' the house on his shoulder in his shirt anddrawers, with only one sock on, an' his nightcap tied so tight under hischin that they had to cut it off--him in a swound, too, hangin' as limpas a dead eel on Sam's shoulder, with his head down one side, an' hislegs down the other. Oh, it _was_ a lark!"
The boy recalled "the lark" to his own mind so vividly, that he had tostop at this point, in order to give vent to an uproarious fit oflaughter.
"Was Frank there?" inquired the widow, when the fit subsided.
"Not that I know of, mother; I looked hard for him, but didn't see him.There was lots o' men big enough to be him; but I couldn't get nearenough to see for the bobbies. I wonder what them bobbies were madefor!" continued Willie, with a look of indignation, as he seated himselfat the table, and began to eat a hearty breakfast; "the long lamp-posts!that are always in the way when nobody wants 'em. I do believe they wasinvented for nothin' else than to aggravate small boys and snub theirinquiring minds."
"Where was the fire, Willie?"
"In Beverly Square. I say, mother, if that there grocer don't send usbetter stuff than this here bacon in future, I'll--I'll have to give himup."
"I can't afford to get better, dear," said the widow meekly.
"I know that, mother; but _he_ could afford to _give_ better. However,it's down now, so it don't much matter."
"Did you hear whose house was burned, Willie?"
"A Mr Oberly, or somethin' like that."
"Auberly!" exclaimed the widow, with a start.
"Well, p'raps it is Auberly; but whichever it is, he's got a prettykettle o' fish to look after this mornin'. You seem to have heard ofhim before, mother?"
"Yes, Willie, I--I know him a--at least I have met with him often. Yousee I was better off once, and used to mingle with--but I need nottrouble you with that. On the strength of our former acquaintance, Ithought I would write and ask him to get you a situation in an office,and I have got a letter from him, just before you came down tobreakfast, saying that he will do what he can, and bidding me send youto him between eleven and twelve to-morrow."
"Whew!" whistled Willie, "an' he burnt out o' house and home, without acoat to his back or a shoe to his foot. It strikes me I'll have to tryto get _him_ a situation."
"He won't be found at the house, now, I dare say, my son, so we'll haveto wait a little; but the burning of his house and furniture won'taffect him much, for he's rich."
"Humph! p'raps not," said Willie; "but the burnin' of his little girlmight have--"
"You said that _no_ lives were lost," cried Mrs Willders, turning pale.
"No more there was, mother; but if it hadn't bin for one o' the firementhat jumped in at a blazin' winder an' brought her out through fire an'smoke, she'd have bin a cinder by this time, an' money wouldn't havebought the rich man another daughter, _I_ know."
"True, my son," observed Mrs Willders, resting her forehead on herhand; then, as if suddenly recollecting something, she looked up andsaid, "Willie, I want you to go down to the City with these socks toFrank. This is his birthday, and I sat late last night on purpose toget them finished. His station is a long way _off_, I know, but you'venothing else to do, so--"
"Nothin' else to do, mother!" exclaimed Willie; with an offended look."Haven't I got to converse in a friendly way with all thecrossin'-sweepers an' shoeblacks an' stall-women as I go along, an'chaff the cabbies, an' look in at all the shop-windows, and insult thebobbies? I _always_ insult the bobbies. It does me good. I hurt 'em,mentally, as much as I can, an' I'd hurt 'em bodily if I could. Butevery dog has his day. When I grow up _won't_ I pitch into 'em!"
He struck the table with his fist, and, shaking back his curly hair,lifted his blue eyes to his mother's face with a stern expression, whichgradually relaxed into a smile.
"Ah, you needn't grin, mother, an' tell me that the `_policemen_' are afine set of men, and quite as brave and useful in their way as thefiremen. I know all you respectable sort of people think that; but _I_don't. They're my natural enemies, and I hate 'em. Come, mother, giveme the socks and let me be off."
Soon the vigorous urchin was on his way to the City, whistling, asusual, with all his might. As he passed the corner of the BritishMuseum a hand touched him on the shoulder, and its owner said:
"How much are ye paid a week, lad, for kicking up such a row?"
Willie looked round, and his eyes encountered the brass buckle of thewaist-belt of a tall, strapping fellow in a blue uniform. Glancingupwards, he beheld the handsome countenance of his brother Frank lookingdown at him with a quiet smile. He wore no helmet, for except whenattending a fire the firemen wear a sailor-like blue cloth cap.
"Hallo, Blazes! is that you?" cried the boy.
"Just so, Willie; goin' down to Watling Street to attend drill."
Willie (who had styled his brother "Blazes" ever since he joined thefire brigade) observed that he happened to be going in the samedirection to deliver a message from his mother to a relation, which hewould not speak about, however, just then, as he wished to tell him of afire he had been at last night.
"A fire, lad; was it a big one?"
"Ay, that it was; a case o' burnin'-out almost; _and there were livessaved_," said the boy with a
look of triumph; "and that's more than youcan say you've seen, though you _are_ a fireman."
"Well, you know I have not been long in the brigade, Willie, and as theescapes often do their work before the engines come up, I've not hadmuch chance yet of seeing lives saved. How was it done?"
With glowing eyes and flushed cheeks Willie at once launched out into avivid description of the scene he had so recently witnessed, and dweltparticularly on the brave deeds of Conductor Forest and the tallfireman. Suddenly he looked up at his brother.
"Why, what are you chucklin' at, Blazes?"
"Nothing, lad. Was the fireman _very_ tall?"
"That he certainly was--uncommon tall."
"Something like _me_?" said Frank.
A gleam of intelligence shot across the boy's face as he stopped andcaught his brother by the sleeve, saying earnestly:
"It wasn't _you_, Frank, _was_ it?"
"It was, Willie, and right glad am I to have been in such good luck asto save Miss Auberly."
Willie grasped his brother's hand and shook it heartily.
"You're a brick, Blazes," said he, "and this is your birthday, an' Iwish you luck an' long life, my boy. You'll do me credit yet, if you goon as you've begun. Now, I'll go right away back an' tell mother.Won't she be fit to bu'st?"
"But what about your message to the relation in the City?" inquiredFrank.
"That relation is yourself, and here's the message, in the shape of apair o' socks from mother; knitted with her own hands; and, by the way,that reminds me--how came you to be at the fire last night? It's a longway from your station."
"I've been changed recently," said Frank; "poor Grove was badly hurtabout the loins at a fire in New Bond Street last week, and I have beensent to take his place, so I'm at the King Street station now. But Ihave something more to tell you before you go, lad, so walk with me abit farther."
Willie consented, and Frank related to him his conversation with MrAuberly in reference to himself.
"I thought of asking leave and running out this afternoon to tell you,so it's as well we have met, as it will--Why, what are _you_ chucklingat, Willie?"
This question was put in consequence of the boy's eyes twinkling and hischeeks reddening with suppressed merriment.
"Never mind, Blazes. I haven't time to tell you just now. I'll tellyou some other time. So old Auberly wants to see me to-morrowforenoon?"
"That's what he said to me," returned Frank.
"Very good; I'll go. Adoo, Blazes--farewell."
So saying, Willie Willders turned round and went off at a run, chucklingviolently. He attempted to whistle once or twice, but his mouth refusedto retain the necessary formation, so he contented himself withchuckling instead. And it is worthy of record that that small boy wasso much engrossed with his own thoughts on this particular occasion thathe did not make one observation, bad, good, or indifferent, to any oneduring his walk home. He even received a question from a boy smallerthan himself as to whether "his mother knew he was out," without makingany reply, and passed innumerable policemen without even a thought ofvengeance!
"Let me see," said he, muttering to himself as he paused beside theMarble Arch at Hyde Park, and leaned his head against the railings ofthat structure; "Mr Auberly has been an' ordered two boys to be sent tohim to-morrow forenoon--ha! he! sk!" (the chuckling got the better ofhim here)--"very good. An' my mother has ordered one o' the boys to go,while a tall fireman has ordered the other. Now, the question is, whicho' the two boys am I--the _one_ or the _t'other_--ha! sk! ho! Well, ofcourse, _both_ o' the boys will go; they can't help it, there's nogittin' over that; but, then, which of 'em will git the situation?There's a scruncher for you, Mr Auberly. You'll have to fill yourhouse with tar an' turpentine an' set fire to it over again 'aforeyou'll throw light on _that_ pint. S'pose I should go in for _both_situations! It _might_ be managed. The first boy could take awell-paid situation as a clerk, an the second boy might go in fornight-watchman at a bank." (Chuckling again interrupted the flow ofthought.) "P'raps the two situations might be got in the same place o'business; that would be handy! Oh! if one o' the boys could only be agirl, _what_ a lark that would--sk! ha! ha!"
He was interrupted at this point by a shoe-black, who remarked to hiscompanion:
"I say, Bob, 'ere's a lark. 'Ere's a feller bin an got out o' Bedlam, alarfin' at nothink fit to burst hisself!"
So Willie resumed his walk with a chuckle that fully confirmed themember of the black brigade in his opinion.
He went home chuckling and went to bed chuckling, without informing hismother of the cause of his mirth. Chuckling he arose on the followingmorning, and, chuckling still, went at noon to Beverly Square, where hediscovered Mr Auberly standing, gaunt and forlorn, in the midst of theruins of his once elegant mansion.