“Folks say that they’ve got into their ---- heads their license is in genooine danger. Confine yourself to prayin’ an’ singin’, an’ they don’t deny that’s what you’re hired for. Folks say if you meddle with city politics, there ain’t an insurance company in New England ’u’d take a policy on your life, sir. You might as well hear what’s goin’ on, Mr. Bayard. I don’t suspicion it’ll make no odds to you. I told ’em you wouldn’t tech the politics of this here town with a forty-fathom grapplin’-iron,--no, nor with a harbor-dredger!” “You’re right there, Captain,” returned Bayard, smiling. “Then ’tain’t true about the license?” asked the captain anxiously. “I have nothing to conceal in the matter, Captain,” answered Bayard after a moment’s silence. “There are legalized crimes in Angel Alley which I shall fight till I die. But it will be slow work. I don’t do it by lobbying. I have my own methods, and you must grant me my own counsel.” “The dawn that rises on the Trawls without their license,” slowly said the captain, “that day, sir, you may as well call on the city marshal for a body-guard. You’ll need it!” “Oh, you and Job will answer, I fancy,” replied Bayard, laughing. He went straight home and to bed, where he slept fitfully till nearly noon of the next day. He was so exhausted with watching and excitement, that there is a sense of relief in thinking that the man was granted this one night’s rest before that which was to be befell him. For, at midnight of the succeeding night, he was awakened by the clang of the city bells. It was a still night, there was little wind, and the tide was calm at the ebb. The alarm was quite distinct and easily counted. One? two? three? Six? One--two--three. Six. Thirty-six. Thirty-six was the call from the business section of the town. This alarm rang in for the board of trade, Angel Alley, the wharves, and certain banks and important shops. “A fire on the wharves, probably,” thought Bayard; he turned on his pillow; “the fire-boat will reach it in three minutes. It is likely to be some slight affair.” One--two--three. Six. One--two--three. Six. _One-two. One-two._ The sounding of the general alarm aroused him thoroughly. He got to the window and flung open the blinds. In the heart of the city, two miles away, a pillar of flame shot straight towards the sky, which hung above it as red as the dashed blood of a mighty slaughter. At this moment a man came running, and leaned on Mrs. Granite’s fence, looking up through the dark. “Mr. Bayard! Mr. Bayard!” he called loudly. “Bob! Is that you? What is it? Where is it?” “It’s in Angel Alley, sir.” “Be there in a minute, Bob.” “But, Mr. Bayard, sir--there’s them as think you’re safer where you be. Job Slip says you stay to home if you love us, Mr. Bayard!” “Wait for me, Bob,” commanded Bayard. “I’m half dressed now.”