“Once in a while the alarm is rung by some Irish servant girl who wants to send a letter back to the old country and mistakes this for a mail box. And once in a while it is rung by somebody who is deceived by a smoky chimney or a bonfire in a vacant lot. The other alarms intended to call out a greater force, can only be sent by an official, who has a key to the inside box. For example, suppose our company were to be called out to-night to a fire, and I were to find on arrival that it was in my own district, I would take command, even if another battalion chief were to be present also. In the same way he would take command, if the fire were in his district. But, suppose I find that the fire is a big one and in danger of spreading. I go to the box and sound the second alarm, which brings up an additional force. Then, suppose that I find the fire making such headway that we are unable to control it. Then I go to the box again and sound the third alarm, and that brings up every available engine and hook and ladder company within a reasonable distance. When that third alarm sounds in an engine house, every fireman knows that there’s a big and dangerous fire to be fought, and every man goes out with a keener sense of his own responsibility than he would on an ordinary call.” “How often does the third alarm sound?” asked Bruce, who had been listening with intense interest to the chief’s words. “It’s not very often that we have a fire big enough to warrant it,” replied the official. “The last one we had was at an apartment house up town, about four months ago—” He paused abruptly, remembering that it was at this fire that Frank Decker, the boy’s father, had perished. And although Bruce said nothing, he knew what he meant. Entering the wagon again, they drove a few blocks further and stopped in front of an engine house situated on a side street. A fireman, standing on the pavement in front of the door, saluted as the chief entered. “Is Captain Murphy about?” asked the chief. “Yes,” replied the other, and then a tall, stoutly built man, with a military look and manner that corresponded well with his uniform, made his appearance from the rear room and bade his visitors welcome. “This is Frank Decker’s boy,” said the chief, as he presented Bruce to the officer, “and we’re going to try and make a fireman of him. I’ve brought him around here to show him what a fire engine is like.” “Frank Decker’s boy!” exclaimed the captain, as he shook Bruce cordially by the hand. “Well, all I can say is, you’ve got good material to work with. I knew Frank this twelve years or more, and a better fireman never rode on a tender.”