The Third Alarm: A Story of the New York Fire DepartmentFord, James L. (James Lauren)
General
The Third Alarm: A Story of the New York Fire Department
Ford, James L. (James Lauren)
Fire fighters -- New York (State) -- New York -- Juvenile fiction; New York (N.Y.). Fire Department -- Juvenile fiction
Mr. Dexter made no reply to this remark, and there was silence in the
room for fully a minute. Then he shook his head slowly, and said: “No, I
don’t exactly like to ask Sam to help me in this affair, and perhaps,
after all it would be better for me to write than to make the journey
myself.”
“My dear Mr. Dexter,” said Mr. Van Kuren, rising from his seat and
placing his hand on his old friends arm, “the mere fact that you do not
write to him in this matter is a proof that you do not fully trust him;
but don’t take the trip yourself. Write a letter; this is no season for
a man of your age to travel.”
Soon after this the visitor took his leave, and the old gentleman sat
down at his library table and addressed a polite and formal note to
Bruce Decker, telling him what he had learned from a mutual friend, and
asking him to send him full information concerning himself and his
family, adding that he very well remembered meeting him before, and
hoped that he was making progress in the calling which he had chosen.
Having sealed and addressed this letter he sat for some time lost in
reflection. Then taking up his pen again, he wrote another letter to the
man to whom Mr. Van Kuren had referred as “Sam.”
Both these letters reached New York on the same day, and were the cause
of the strange meeting of the two boys, which has been described in
another chapter. But in the letter to his kinsman, Sam, the old
gentleman did not reveal the address which Laura had given him.
CHAPTER XXIX.
When Skinny the Swiper, standing in the little country burying-ground,
looked upon the time-stained marble slab, and deciphered the inscription
upon it, he opened his eyes in wonder, and for the second time within
five minutes, uttered the exclamation which he kept on hand for such
emergencies as demanded something more vigorous and expressive than
commonplace English.
“Hully gee!” was all that this little New York street boy had to say;
but coming from him it possessed a deeper significance than is conveyed
by the cold type which spells the words.
First he looked at the grave-stone, and then he looked at Bruce Decker,
and finally he asked: “Wuz dat your mother?”
“Yes,” replied Bruce, simply.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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