Quickly was the hose unreeled. Bert stood near the engine, ready to swing the lever and turn the valve wheel that would send the hot sulphuric acid into the soda water. Then, when there was a good head of gas accumulated in the cylinder, he would open another valve, and the fire-quenching fluid would spurt from the hose. There was a hiss as the breaking of the glass holding the vitriol was followed by the instant generation of gas. "Here she comes!" cried Bert, as he turned the valve. A second later a white, foamy stream jetted from the nozzle, and sprayed into the midst of the blaze. The flames began to die down as if by magic. But Vincent was not a second behind Bert in getting his machine into operation. "Lively, boys!" he cried, and the hose was unreeled, the stream playing almost at the same instant as was Bert's. The spectators set up a cheer. This was something few of them had seen. The chemical engines were proving what they could do. Whether the blaze at which Vincent's crew directed their stream was not as fierce as the other was not disclosed, but in spite of the fact that Bert's engine was the first in operation by a narrow margin, the blaze Vincent was fighting began to die down quicker. "We'll win!" cried Vincent. "Our fire's out, and theirs is blazing good yet!" A few seconds later, however, Tom Donnell had succeeded in taming the last of the leaping flames. "Now, boys, tear her apart!" ordered Bert, and the lads with the long hooks began scattering the still glowing embers of the boards that had formed the shack. As soon as they did so, parts of the shed not touched by the chemical, began to blaze. "Douse her, Tom!" cried the young chief, and Tom did so with good effect. Meanwhile Vincent's crowd, thinking they had put their fire out, had turned away, while Vincent shut off the valve that controlled the outlet from the tank. No sooner had this been done than the fire in their shack blazed up again. "Look!" cried John Boll, one of Vincent's crew. "Turn on the stream!" shouted several of the lads. Vincent tried to do so, but before he could work it the shack was blazing again, almost as fiercely as before. He had been too confident that the fire was out. By the time he got his stream to spurting again, Bert had the other fire completely out, so that only a little steam came from the pile of blackened embers. "We win!" cried Cole Bishop. "Yes, I guess you do," assented Mr. Bergman, who was the umpire. "I'll have to award you the decision. Now, Bert, fill your tank again, and get ready for the real contest, which will take place in about an hour." "I'm glad you won, Bert," said Vincent, generously, coming over, and shaking hands with the young chief. "Thanks. You see I thought the blaze was smouldering under the wood, and I was ready for it." "I'll be, next time. I hope you win the trumpet." "Well, so do I, for the sake of Lakeville. But these other departments have had more practice than we have."