“Well, one couldn’t tell which side you’re laughin’ on,” retorted Stanley, “fer the dirt. Been livin’ with your friends the hogs?” “Never you mind!” said Hummel, still more thickly, and reeled a little and put his hands to his head. “Never you mind!” “Why, I believe the man’s drunk!” said Stanley. “Come on back with me, my friend, an’ I’ll send you up-town in style, behind two horses, with a gong ringin’ in front. Come on,” and he started to lead his prisoner back toward the freight-house. But Hummel developed a sudden limpness and sat down suddenly upon the pavement. “What d’you want me fer?” he demanded, sullenly. Stanley waved his hand toward the growing conflagration, which, at that instant, burst, with a mighty report, into a fountain of flame. “For that,” he said, sternly. “Come along, or I’ll find a way to make you!” “I didn’t do that,” protested Hummel, staring toward the fire, as though conscious of it for the first time. “That must ’a’ been—” “Who?” asked Stanley, as Hummel suddenly checked himself. “No matter,” answered that worthy. Stanley, his patience exhausted, jerked the little man to his feet and struck him over the head with his revolver. “Come on,” he said savagely, “I ain’t got no time to waste on you! Step lively, or I’ll put you to sleep.” Away in the distance, he could hear the growing rattle of the engine gongs and knew, with a breath of relief, that the fire department was at hand. He knew something else, too—that within a very few minutes, a great mob would be upon the scene, which it would take the hardest kind of work to control. The windows in the neighbourhood had been thrown up at sound of the explosion—he could hear the hum of voices, the cries of alarm. He had no time to fool with a reluctant prisoner, and he jerked him again to his feet. “Will you come?” he demanded. “No,” answered Hummel, his face yellow with terror, struggling desperately to free himself. Then Stanley lost his temper and raised his arm to strike. But even as he did so, a mighty roar seemed to rend the firmament above him, the earth rocked, and a blinding flame leapt upwards towards the heavens. There was an instant’s appalling silence, and then came the sound of crashing walls, the rending of timbers—and again all was still. Only for a breath—then the night was filled with yells and groans and curses. And the whole neighbourhood, wakened by the roar, leaped from bed and rushed out into the streets, white-lipped and trembling. * * * * * Allan West, having slept the greater part of the day and evening, found himself restless and wakeful as the night progressed, and at last lay staring up into the darkness above him, meditating with smiling lips, on the events of the day. That this great happiness should have come to him seemed almost past believing—he had done so little to deserve it, had escaped so narrowly a nearly fatal blunder.