had been some small blazes, in which the old engine had proved its worth.
The fishermen knew how to operate it to advantage, too, and soon a double line of them, extending from the surf to the tank, began passing the filled buckets up one side and the empty ones down the other. As the tank filled, other men worked the handles and a stream of water was soon spurting on the fire.
"Quit it! Oh, quit it!" begged Mr. Ringold. "I want that shack to burn!"
"He's crazy—don't mind him!" shouted the self-appointed chief. "We'll soon have it out now."
"I'll see if I can stop them," said C. C., for the water had about quenched the blaze, and it was useless to try to go on with the play. "They'll listen to me," the comedian declared.
He rushed forward, but at that moment the hose got from the control of the two men holding it. The nozzle swung around, and the stream came full force over Christopher Cutler Piper, drenching him in an instant.
"I say there—hold on—shut that water off! I—I'm being drowned!" he spluttered. And then, as the men again got the nozzle under control, the comedian, dripping water at every point, walked away, saying:
