The bell-rope was gone. Some little piccaninny had needed a rope to tie his dog and had helped himself. Two or three boys tried to climb the post and ring the bell, but they could not reach it. “Open de door an’ fotch out de engyne!” the crowd whooped. Forty men ran their hands into their pockets and brought them out empty. They did not have the key to the door. They had never had the key. The action was mechanical and unconscious. Who had the key? No one knew. It had been two years since any one had entered the building. The door was locked and the key was lost. “Bust de door down!” was the next call from the crowd. Strong shoulders were pressed against the fragile door, and the crash of its timbers was answered by the shouts of the people and the onrush of the crowd. They laid hold upon the rope and pulled the machine to the scene of the fire. Down the alley by the side of the house they ran, broke down the fence and pulled the machine into the yard. With many shouts they unwound the hose, attached it to the engine, turned the faucets and began to pump. From the hose came a long whistling sound of air: “Whee-ee-ee-e!” Not a drop of chemical water. The celebration two years before had exhausted the chemical, and the engine had never been recharged. The hen-house burned without interruption. Ginny Babe Chew turned toward that crowd of heroic negro firemen, and the pumps of her profanity worked without a hitch as she poured out a stream of sulphurous and vitriolic language upon their luckless heads. Skeeter Butts still hung to the tree with both hands, laughing with whoops like a yelling Comanche. The firemen laid hold upon their chemical machine and dragged it out of the yard. Suddenly Skeeter’s laughter ended with a gurgle of choked surprise. With his mouth still open wide, he gazed upward at a little dormer window which looked out of the attic of Ginny Babe Chew’s home. Slowly his hair rose up on his head, and cold chills ran down his spine. The light reflected from the burning hen-house clearly revealed a male human face at the dormer window! The man was looking down into the yard, watching the crowd, watching the fire, and at times grinning at something he saw. Skeeter watched that face for two or three minutes; its clear outlines were stamped indelibly upon his mind. He had never seen the negro before! Then he sprang to the side of Vinegar Atts and squalled: “Come on up-stairs wid me, Vinegar--quick!” The two ran into the house. Skeeter took his automatic pistol from his pocket, and leading the way, ran up the little, narrow stairs which led to the attic. They pushed open the door of the room and entered. The room was empty! Skeeter ran to the window and looked out, just as he had seen the strange negro do. Instantly the fat face of Ginny Babe Chew was raised to the window, her green pig eyes glowed malevolently, and her fat fists were clenched and raised in malediction.