rapidly as he could place its contents most effectively without wasting one of the precious drops, and swing it back again empty to the man behind.
The minutes passed, five of them, but with each one the position on the roof had grown more and more untenable—they were choking, gasping for breath—the heat was blistering, scorching them, though they kept their faces turned away—the smoke, a continuous cloud now, settled upon them, dense, suffocating.
Faintly to Varge's ears came a roar of voices, then the beat of hoofs, a clatter and clang in the driveway below—the fire-tub had come. A minute more and he heard the sound of many running steps, the bump and rattle of a light vehicle—it was the two-wheeled hose cart, men straining at the long draw-ropes, flanking the two men at the end of the guiding-tongue. He could not see it, but he could picture it well enough—many a "muster" and "play-out" of Veteran Firemen he had seen in Berley Falls. Presently they would man the long brakes on either side of the fire-tub, twelve men to a side—it would have a name, of course, the fire-tub, like Excelsior or Eureka—and then clang-clang-clank, clang-clang-clank would go the brakes, up on one side, down on the other, then—he swept his hand quickly across his smarting eyes; he was dizzy and his mind seemed to be wavering. Strange that the other men did not feel—
A full bucket dropped from the nerveless hand of the man behind him, rolled splashing, ricochetting down the roof and plumped into the fire below.
In a flash, concentrating, gathering mental and physical faculties alike, Varge whirled around, his hand shot out and locked in the other's collar just as the man
