Glad of an excuse to get out into the streets, for it was a pleasant warm day, Bruce bent his steps towards the address indicated on the envelope which he carried in his hand. A man servant answered his ring and ushered him into the large and rather gloomy library, in which sat Mr. Peter Dewsnap, one of the eccentric characters of New York, and a particular friend of Chief Trask’s. Mr. Dewsnap was a short and rather stout gentleman, with bright, clear eyes, snow-white whiskers and a decidedly jovial aspect. He smiled pleasantly as he took the letter, and then asked the boy to sit down, remarking at the same time, “You’re not one of the chief’s sons are you?” “No, sir,” replied Bruce, rather proudly, “I’m a member of his company.” “A member of the fire company!” exclaimed Mr. Dewsnap, “Well, you must have joined very lately, and in fact I didn’t know that there were any lads as young as you in the whole department.” “I’ve only been there a very short time, sir,” replied the boy, respectfully, “but my father was a member of this company until his death, about four months ago.” “You don’t mean to say that you are a son of Frank Decker, who was killed at that big apartment house fire?” cried Mr. Dewsnap, and then added, as he scanned the boy’s face more carefully, “yes, the same eyes and the same square look in them. I knew your father very well, young man, and I’m glad to see you. Did you never hear your father speak of me?” And just then a sudden remembrance of what his father had told him lit up the boy’s mind, and he exclaimed hastily, and without thinking of what he was saying: “Why, you’re not the gentleman they used to call the old fire crank, are you?” He stopped suddenly, as soon as the words were out of his mouth, realizing that he had addressed the old gentleman in a too familiar way. But the latter did not seem to be offended. On the contrary, he threw himself back in his chair, uttering roars of laughter and slapping his knees with his hand: “That’s what I am, and that’s just what your father used to call me,” he cried, “I’m an old fire crank, and have been ever since I was your age, and that’s fifty years ago. There was no paid department then, with all its new fangled inventions for getting out in less than no time, but we had a volunteer department, and I belonged to it. You boys of the present generation can’t form any idea of what New York was like when I was your age. You’ve not been in the city long, have you?” “No, sir,” replied Bruce simply, “I was brought up in the country, and never saw New York until a fortnight ago.”