Instantly the active youths sprang to their work. Some got the hose out of the box of an engine and uncoiled it length by length towards the house, others screwed the lengths together at the same time that the water-trough was being set up and the suction-pipe attached. Meanwhile, some had run up into the building, and from an upper window let down a rope so as to be ready to drag up the hose when it was made long enough to reach them. Thus they practised during the forenoon the mimic warfare with the flames which they should have to carry into actual operation at night. In another part of the yard a foreman was instructing some recruits in the use of the fire-escape. Under a neighbouring archway stood a small group of idlers looking on at these stirring operations, one of these was Philip Sparks, another was the Bloater. The interests of the first had taken him there, the second had been led to the scene by his affections. Sparks did not observe the Bloater, but the Bloater being unusually sharp, had observed Sparks, and, with a look of surprise and glee at the unexpected sight, set himself to watch and listen. "That's him," growled Sparks in a low whisper, pointing to Joe Dashwood as he entered the yard. This was said to a dark-skinned, ill-looking, powerful man who stood at his elbow. The man nodded in reply. "Take a good look at him, Jeff; you'll know him again?" Jeff nodded and guessed that he would. "Well, then, West-End; Friday, at 12 p.m. Number 5, close to the fire-station. You won't forget?" whispered Sparks, as he and his ill-looking friend slunk away. "I say," observed the Bloater, poking Little Jim in the ribs, and looking down at him with one eye shut, "you and I shall form an engagement for Friday night--shan't we." Little Jim opened his eyes very wide, pressed his mouth very tight, and nodded his head violently. "Well then," continued the Bloater, repeating Sparks's words in a deep stage whisper, "West-End; Friday, at 12 p.m. Number 5, close to the fire-station. You won't forget?" Little Jim again nodded his head, and uttered a little shriek of delight. This attracted the notice of a policeman, who hinted, as delicately as possible, that the boys had better "move on." They took the hint, and retired precipitately. CHAPTER SIX. Oh! but it _was_ an interesting occupation to watch the expression of Little Jim's countenance, as the Bloater watched it, while the two boys were on their way to the "West-End" that evening, bent on doing duty as amateur watchmen on "Number 5," close to the fire-station. "Your face ain't cherubic," observed the Bloater, looking down at his little friend. "If anythink, I should say it partakes of the diabolic; so you've got no occasion to make it wus than it is by twistin' it about like that. Wotever do you do it for?" Little Jim replied by a sound which can only be represented by the letters "sk," pronounced in the summit of the nose.