He pulled her arm. "Come on!" She paused for a moment to relieve herself of a series of entirely unexpected chuckles. "_Sich_ goings on!" she said, "I never did! Where's he going now?" and came along behind the parapet to the front of the drapery establishment. Below, the street was now fully alive to their presence, and encouraged the appearance of their heads by shouts and cheers. A sort of free fight was going on round the fire escape, order represented by Mr. Boomer and the very young policeman, and disorder by some partially intoxicated volunteers with views of their own about the manipulation of the apparatus. Two or three lengths of Mr. Rusper's garden hose appeared to have twined themselves round the ladder. Mr. Polly watched the struggle with a certain impatience, and glanced ever and again over his shoulder at the increasing volume of smoke and steam that was pouring up from the burning fire station. He decided to break an attic window and get in, and so try and get down through the shop. He found himself in a little bedroom, and returned to fetch his charge. For some time he could not make her understand his purpose. "Got to come at once!" he shouted. "I hain't '_ad_ _sich_ a time for years!" said the old lady. "We'll have to get down through the house!" "Can't do no jumpin'," said the old lady. "No!" She yielded reluctantly to his grasp. She stared over the parapet. "Runnin' and scurrying about like black beetles in a kitchin," she said. "We've got to hurry." "Mr. Rumbold 'E's a very Quiet man. 'E likes everything Quiet. He'll be surprised to see me 'ere! Why!--there 'e is!" She fumbled in her garments mysteriously and at last produced a wrinkled pocket handkerchief and began to wave it. "Oh, come ON!" cried Mr. Polly, and seized her. He got her into the attic, but the staircase, he found, was full of suffocating smoke, and he dared not venture below the next floor. He took her into a long dormitory, shut the door on those pungent and pervasive fumes, and opened the window to discover the fire escape was now against the house, and all Fishbourne boiling with excitement as an immensely helmeted and active and resolute little figure ascended. In another moment the rescuer stared over the windowsill, heroic, but just a trifle self-conscious and grotesque. "Lawks a mussy!" said the old lady. "Wonders and Wonders! Why! it's Mr. Gambell! 'Iding 'is 'ed in that thing! I _never_ did!" "Can we get her out?" said Mr. Gambell. "There's not much time." "He might git stuck in it." "_You'll_ get stuck in it," said Mr. Polly, "come along!" "Not for jumpin' I don't," said the old lady, understanding his gestures rather than his words. "Not a bit of it. I bain't no good at jumping and I _wunt_." They urged her gently but firmly towards the window. "You _lemme_ do it my own way," said the old lady at the sill.... "I could do it better if e'd take it off." "Oh! _carm_ on!"