Most of the ladies, in their escape or their purpose of rescue, tried each to possess herself of Lemuel, and keep him solely in her interest. “Mr. Barker! Mr. Barker! Mr. Barker!” was called for in various sopranos and contraltos, till an outsider took up the cry and shouted, “Barker! Barker! Speech! Speech!” This made him very popular with the crowd, who in their enjoyment of the fugitives were unable to regard the fire seriously. A momentary diversion was caused by an elderly gentleman who came to the hotel-door, completely dressed except that he was in his stockings, and demanded Jerry. The humourist who had called for a speech from Lemuel volunteered the statement that Jerry had just gone round the corner to see a man. “I want him,” said the old gentleman savagely. “I want my boots; I can't go about in my stockings.” Cries for Jerry followed; but in fact the porter had forgotten all his grudges and enmities; he had reappeared, in perfect temper, and had joined Lemuel and Berry in helping to get the women and children out of the burning house. The police had set a guard at the door, in whom Lemuel recognised the friendly old officer who had arrested him. “All out?” asked the policeman. The smoke, which had reddened and reddened, was now a thin veil drawn over the volume of flame that burned strongly and steadily up the well of the elevator, and darted its tongues out to lick the framework without. The heat was intense. Mrs. Harmon came panting and weeping from the dining-room with some unimportant pieces of silver, driven forward by Jerry and her nephew. They met the firemen, come at last, and pulling in their hose, who began to play upon the flames; the steam filled the place with a dense mist. Lemuel heard Berry ask him through the fog, “Barker, where's old Evans?” “Oh, I don't know!” he lamented back. “He must have gone up to get Mrs. Evans.” He made a dash towards the stairs. A fireman caught him and pulled him back. “You can't go up; smoke's thick as hell up there.” But Lemuel pulled away, and shot up the stairs. He heard the firemen stop Berry. “You can't go, I tell you! Who's runnin' this fire anyway, I'd like to know?” He ran along the corridor which Evans's apartment opened upon. There was not much smoke there; it had drawn up the elevator-well, as if in a chimney. He burst into the apartment and ran to the inner room, where he had once caught a glimpse of Mrs. Evans sitting by the window. Evans stood leaning against the wall, with his hand at his breast. He panted, “Help her--help--” “Where _is_ she? Where _is_ she?” demanded Lemuel. She came from an alcove in the room, holding a handkerchief drenched with cologne in her hand, which she passed to her husband's face. “Are you better now? Can you come, dear? Rest on me!” “I'm--I'm all right! Go--go! I can get along--”