It was a rather perilous undertaking. Professors Hughes and Ivins, both elderly men, did not dare to again brave the danger.
"Come back, boys—come back!" called Professor Hughes, distractedly.
But Bob Somers and Dave Brandon were already groping their way toward the president's office, which was situated to the left of the entrance. They knew that it contained some of the most prized possessions of Professor Hopkins. Besides books and scientific instruments there were rare collections of butterflies and other insects.
The Ramblers knew where the cases were kept, and their efforts to reach them proved successful. A few moments more and they were staggering toward the entrance heavily laden.
"Bravo, boys!" cried the professor of mathematics, seizing the precious trays.
"Hurrah for the bucket brigade!" shouted Bob Somers. "Here comes the water."
Two lines of men and boys, reaching from the schoolhouse steps to the pond, were ready and eager for work. In a moment the first bucket had arrived. Bob Somers seized it and rushed inside.
The buckets began to follow each other in rapid succession, and the volunteers, in relays, fought the flames with determined efforts.
Dave Brandon continued to work in the president's office, and as fast as articles were brought out other students carried them to the home of Professor Hughes, almost opposite the school. At length they had the satisfaction of taking over the last tray.
Suddenly the clang of a distant bell came over the air.
"The Rockville engine!" cried Bob.
In a few moments it rumbled over the bridge, leaving a trail of embers, which the breeze caught up and danced merrily along the snow-covered street.
Then the tender, with loudly clanging bell, passed between the crowds which had hastily parted to the right and left.
Bob and his companions felt that their services were no longer needed, so they threw aside their buckets and walked across the street to the engine.
It had taken a position beneath an electric lamp, its polished surfaces glistening brightly. Several firemen were already attaching the suction hose. Another was piling on fuel and the peculiar smell of soft coal smoke mingled with the pungent odor of burning wood from the schoolhouse. A hissing sound showed that the steam had reached a high pressure. It was an interesting moment to the boys.
"Come on with the water!" shouted a voice. Instantly the engineer turned the valve, and a loud puffing began, while a shower of sparks shot upward through the smoky air.
By this time, the fire had worked its way through the central portion of the school and found a vent in the cupola. The windows had been broken by the heat and long streamers of flame pierced the whirling smoke.
An extension ladder was placed against the eaves and a number of firemen ascended to the roof, where, almost hidden by the smoke, they dropped a rope and began hauling up another line of hose.
But the fire in the cupola was rapidly increasing. The flames having united into a solid body leaped furiously upward, presenting the appearance of a gigantic torch surmounted by a column of smoke and burning brands.
Within a few minutes, the scene had wonderfully changed. The entire mass of smoke seemed to be drawn upward by the rush of air, and mingling with that from the cupola, stood out with a deep, sullen red from a background of starlit sky.
The electric lights began to look pale and ghostlike, and a ruddy glare suffused the landscape, while myriads of embers drifted slowly earthward.
"My eye, that certainly is a pretty sight, eh, Somers?"
A very tall, thin youth standing close by uttered this exclamation.
"Hello, John Hackett!"
"Hello! Say, you fellows look like a minstrel show! What's happened?"
"Didn't you see us hauling out stuff from the president's room, and helping to carry water?"
"My eye! Were you in that—and Chubby, too?"
"Of course," replied the stout boy. "Look, fellows, there goes the water."
A swish and a hiss sounded, as a heavy stream suddenly poured upon the cupola. The flames slowly began to die down, and a great cheer arose from the crowd.
"Must be an awful mess inside," observed Hackett, meditatively. "Isn't it too bad?"
"Yes! and it knocks us out of study for about two months," replied Dave Brandon.
"Maybe they will get a hall somewhere," suggested Tom Clifton.
"Oh, look!" cried Bob, suddenly.
As he spoke, the half-burned timbers of the cupola collapsed and fell with a muffled roar. Then a huge puff of smoke rolled upward, accompanied by a fitful glare of red, while the voices of the crowd swelled into an excited murmur.
The firemen on the roof struggled forward, turned the stream down into the opening, and the last glimmer of light began to slowly fade.
There was much excitement in the crowd, as this seemed to be the critical moment. The Rockville engine fairly roared and shook.
"I'll bet it's under control," said Bob, at length.
"Yes, they've got it now, that's sure," exclaimed Dick Travers.
"Thanks to the Rockville fire company," added Sam.
"Hope you're not going home yet," said Hackett. "I wouldn't mind staying out all night."
"You wouldn't catch me doing it," declared Tommy Clifton decidedly.
"If the moon was up, I'd like to go skating," added Hackett, boastfully, "and I wouldn't sleep all day to-morrow, either."
"I know what you mean," said Dave, with a good-natured grin, "and I suppose I ought to feel pretty badly about it."
"I advise you to stop writing poetry," continued Hackett; "then you won't need so much sleep."
"But then I don't write the kind that puts others to sleep," laughed Brandon, "and that ought to make the matter square."
"In that case, you are forgiven," exclaimed Sam Randall.
"How is Nat Wingate, 'Hatchet'?" asked Bob Somers, at this juncture.
"The doctor says he will have to keep out in the open air as much as possible," replied Hackett. "His lungs seem to be a little weak. Nat thinks of going to some lumber camp—and, by jingo—"
"What's the matter?"
"An idea just struck me," answered Hackett, "and a fine one, too."
"Let's hear it."
"Well, if the school is put out of commission for a month or two, I might manage to go with him."
"Wouldn't it be a great idea for the whole of us to go?" spoke up Bob Somers, turning to the others.
"That's the way to talk," exclaimed John Hackett, enthusiastically. "We could camp in the wilds—hunt, fish and have no end of sport."
"It would be mighty cold out there in the woods," ventured Tom Clifton, the smallest member of the party, "and the snow is ever so deep. Whew! There's twelve o'clock striking."
"Let it strike! Say, fellows, what do you think of this scheme?"
"Simply great! But it all depends upon whether they can find a place for the school," said Bob.
"There isn't a hall large enough in this little town—you know that. Might use a barn, though," grinned Hackett. "Fine to see Professor Hopkins standing on a bale of hay and conducting the opening exercises."
"Well, I'd like to go—but, and it's a great big but," sighed Dick Travers, "my dad might not look upon it the way I do."
"My fix, too," added Tom.
"Guess we could arrange that all right," said Bob, hopefully. "I think my father will agree to it."
"Anyway, we'll have to talk over this again," exclaimed Hackett. "Nat would certainly be glad if you fellows could go. How about meeting in your barn, Somers?"
"Come over day after to-morrow, and bring Nat with you," replied Bob.
"You can just bet I will," said Hackett. "My eye! How I hope we can arrange it!"
The Rockville steamer was still sending up a stream of sparks, but the excitement was now entirely over. The boys accordingly took leave of each other, and set out for home.