Against such a fire the streams were useless. They could beat back the flame they struck; but as soon as they were moved from the steaming lumber which they had saved, the heat licked it dry again, and the flames leaped back to it. Behind the fringe which the pipes could cover, the whole yard blazed untouched. The windows in the rear of the factory cracked and broke; the smoke began to pour out through the wrecked roof; the fire rose from floor to floor as fast as it could climb; and it climbed unchecked, despite the three streams from the nearest water tower that fought it. Moran licked the tail of his mustache and watched nervously. The largest of the gas tanks towered behind him, in the full current of heat which rained a steady shower of sparks against it; and when he glanced back at it his head jerked around with a twitch. He ordered one of the deck pipes of the water tower turned on the tank to wet it down; and his voice was hoarse and anxious. Then, when the blaze in the factory reached the varnish room and flared out with double fury, he rushed around, concentrating all his streams on the one whirl of flame. The sides of the tank steamed dry at once. He called out for another line to be stretched in from the _Hudson_, and his voice came shaken from a tense throat. He was losing his head. The boat line did not come. In desperation he started down the street, and was met by Keighley hastening up at the head of a squad of the boat’s crew. “For ---- sake, Keighley, hurry up!” he gasped; and his tone was a confession of weakness that was willing to forgive anything--for the moment--for the sake of aid. The line was stretched and coupled as fast as drill. The water spouted to the tank and drenched it. Moran took off his helmet and wiped his forehead, trembling in spite of his efforts to control himself. Keighley came striding back. “That coal pier’s goin’ up if we don’t keep her wet,” he said. “It’ll be worse than the fact’ry fer the tank there.” Moran tried to curse. “The--the whole damn place’s going up,” he complained feebly. “The blaze on that lumber pier astern of us’ll scorch us out if we don’t keep it down,” Keighley continued. “We want a stream on the wall alongside the boat. Were pretty near pumpin’ our limit as it is.” Moran shook his head in a dogged helplessness. “What’re yuh goin’ to do?” Keighley insisted. “We got to do somethin’--an’ be quick about it. Look-a-here!” He hurried down to the boat, with Moran at his heels.