For about two weeks I went almost every evening to the Regent Street Station and spent the night with the men, in the hope of accompanying them to fires. The "lobby"--as the watch room of the station was named--was a small one, round the walls of which the brass helmets and hatchets of the men were hung. Here, each night, two men slept on two trestle-beds. They were fully equipped, with the exception of their helmets. Their comrades slept at their own homes, which were within a few yards of the station. The furniture of the "lobby" was scanty--a desk, a bookcase, two chairs, a clock, an alarm-bell, and four telegraphic instruments comprised it all. These last formed part of a network of telegraphs which extended from the central station to nearly all the other stations in London. By means of the telegraph a "call" is given--i.e. a fire is announced to the firemen all over London, if need be, in a very few minutes. Those who are nearest to the scene of conflagration hasten to it at once with their engines, while each outlying or distant station sends forward a man on foot. These men, coming up one by one, relieve those who have first hastened to the fire. "Calls," however, are not always sent by telegraph. Sometimes a furious ring comes to the alarm-bell, and a man or a boy rushes in shouting "_fire_!" with all his might. People are generally much excited in such circumstances,--sometimes half mad. In one case a man came with a "call" in such perturbation of mind that he could not tell where the fire was at all for nearly five minutes! On another occasion two men rushed in with a call at the same moment, and both were stutterers. My own opinion is that one stuttered by nature and the other from agitation. Be that as it may, they were both half mad with excitement. "F-f-f-fire!" roared one. "F-f-f-fire!" yelled the other. "Where away?" asked a fireman as he quietly buckled his belt and put on his helmet. "B-B-Brompton!"--"B-B-Bayswater!" burst from them both at the same moment. Then one cried, "I--I s-s-say Brompton," and the other shouted, "I--I s-say Bayswater." "What street?" asked the fireman. "W-W-Walton Street," cried one. "N-No--P-P-orchester Terrace," roared the other, and at the word the Walton Street man hit the Porchester Terrace man between the eyes and knocked him down. A regular scuffle ensued, in the midst of which the firemen got out two engines--and, before the stutterers were separated, went off full swing, one to Brompton, the other to Bayswater, and found that, as they had guessed, there were in reality two fires!