The small boy fled on the wings of terror, with his blue eyes starting from their sockets. The fireman was tall and heavy, but he was also strong and in his prime, so that a short run brought him up with the fugitive, whom he seized with a grip of iron. "Now, then, young bottle-imp, what did you mean by that?" "Oh! please, sir," gasped the small boy, with a beseeching look, "I _couldn't_ help it." There was such a tone of truthfulness in this "_couldn't_" that it tickled the fireman. His mouth relaxed in a quiet smile, and, releasing his intended victim, he returned to the station, while the small boy darted away in the direction of Oxford Street. He had scarcely reached the end of the street, however, when a man turned the corner at full speed and ran him down--ran him down so completely that he sent him head-over-heels into the kennel, and, passing on, darted at the fire-bell of the station, which he began to pull violently. The man was tall and dishevelled, partially clad in blue velvet, with stockings which had once been white, but were now covered from garter to toe with mud. One shoe clung to his left foot, the other was fixed by the heel in a grating over a cellar-window in Tottenham Court Road. Without hat or coat, with his shirt-sleeves torn by those unfortunates into whose arms he had wildly rushed, with his hair streaming backwards, his eyes blood-shot, his face pale as marble, and perspiration running down his cheeks, not even his own most intimate friends would have recognised Hopkins--the staid, softspoken, polite, and gentle Hopkins-- had they seen him that night pulling like a maniac at the fire-bell. And, without doubt, Hopkins _was_ a maniac that night--at least he was afflicted with temporary insanity! CHAPTER THREE. FIRE!!! "Hallo, that'll do, man!" cried the same stalwart fireman who had seized the small boy, stepping out and laying his hand on Hopkins's shoulder, whereabouts is it? Hopkins heard him not. One idea had burnt itself into the poor man's brain, and that was the duty that lay on him to ring the alarm-bell! Seeing this, the fireman seized him, and dragged him forcibly--almost lifted him--into the station, round the door of which an eager crowd had already begun to collect. "Calm yourself," said the stalwart fireman quietly, as he thrust Hopkins down into a chair. "Consider now. You'll make us too late if you don't speak. Where is it?" "B-B-Fire!" yelled Hopkins, gasping, and glaring round him on the men, who were quietly putting on their helmets. Hopkins suddenly burst from the grasp of his captor, and, rushing out, seized the bell-handle, which he began to pull more furiously than ever. "Get her out, Jim," said the fireman in a low tone to one of his comrades ("her" being the engine); at the same time he went to the door, and again seizing Hopkins, brought him back and forced him into a chair, while he said firmly: "Now, then, out with it, man; where's the fire?"