“Now one more thing,” he continued. “When you slide down the pole and land at the bottom, don’t stand there to look at the scenery but get out of the way. The man behind you will be right on top of you if you don’t move fast.” Dick found it hard work to go to sleep with the prospect of that dreadful gong ringing at any moment; but at length he dropped off; and when he awoke he did not have to collect his thoughts, for the gong was saying,-- “Tap-tap!” He had never put on boots and trowsers in a second and a half before, but he did it that time. He was not the last man at the pole, either; there were two or three behind him. He remembered the danger at the foot of the pole and sprang to his place on the engine. The engineer and his assistant were already there; the horses were in place; the driver was in his seat with the reins in his hands. The man stood by the big doors, ready to throw them open. “Tap-tap!” the gong had already struck, and somebody on the tender had called out “Two!” “Tap-tap-tap-tap!” said the gong. “Four!” said the voice. Two-four. Not one of Number Four’s alarms yet. “Tap-tap!” said the gong. “Two-four-two,” said the voice; but long before the words were finished the big doors flew open and out went the company with a rush; engine first, tender following. Out with a bound across the floor; with a heavy holding in as the engine swung into the street; with a mad, whirlwind dash down Liberty Street. There was a whip in the socket, but the driver did not take it out. The horses were wild with excitement. “Hi! hi! hi! hi!” the driver shouted; for the street was clear and he wanted their top speed. They seemed to Dick to be entirely beyond control already. “Hi! hi!” On they flew, faster and faster every moment. Thick black smoke was pouring out of the funnel, and the tender was right behind. Dick kept his eye on the horses, remembering his orders. He breathed nothing but smoke and cinders, but no matter. [Illustration: ON THEY FLEW, FASTER AND FASTER EVERY MOMENT.] Excitement? Take all the horse races that ever were run, all the boat races that ever were rowed, all the Roman gladiatorial combats tossed in a heap; mix in a thousand bull fights and a year’s railroad accidents, a century of Presidential elections and a hundred wars in the East,--and you get a faint idea of the flash and fury of a night ride on a fire engine through the streets of New York. Dick felt the blood pumping in his veins. “Hold fast!” the engineer shouted. And as the engine swung into Pearl Street at a terrific gait Dick’s feet flew out and nothing but his grip upon the brass bar saved him. “Where is it?” he shouted to the engineer; no ordinary tone could have been heard in that din. “Pearl above Fulton,” was the answer. How cool the engineer was! and all the firemen, for that matter. This man was calmly testing his watercocks, while his assistant oiled the machinery. The steam-gauge stood at one hundred and five.