The Gray Dawn | Page 9

Theatre
stood-- before the fire--just opposite? I thought so! And the bay used to
come up to Montgomery Street, only a block down! You see, I know it
all! And when we came in, and I saw all those idle ships lying at anchor,
just as they have lain since their crews deserted them in '49 to go to the
mines--and I know why they haven't been used since, why they will
continue to lie there at anchor until they rot or sink--"
"Do you?" said Sherwood, who was vastly amused and greatly taken by
this fresh enthusiasm.
"Yes, the clipper ships!" Keith swept on. "The first cargoes in this new
market make the money--the fastest clippers--poor old hulks--but you
brought in the argonauts!"
So he ran on, venting his impatience, so plainly divided between his
sense of duty in staying near his wife and his great desire to slip the
leash, that Sherwood smiled to himself. Once again he mentioned
Coleman and the Vigilantes of '51.

"I suppose he's around here? I may see him?"
"Oh, yes," said Sherwood, "you'll see him. But if you would accept a
bit of advice, go slow. You must remember that such a movement
makes enemies, arouses opposition. A great many excellent
people--whom you will know--are a little doubtful about all that."
Keith mentioned other names.
"I know them all. They are among the most influential members of the
bar." He glanced at a large watch. "Just at this hour we might find them
at the Monumental engine house. What do you say?"
"I should like nothing better!" cried Keith.
"Your wife's illness is not likely to require immediate attendance?"
suggested Sherwood inquiringly.
"She's only seasick--horrible voyage--she's always under the weather
on shipboard--three weeks of it from Panama--Nan's as strong as a
horse," replied Keith, with obvious impatience.
They walked across the Plaza to the Monumental fire engine house, a
square brick structure of two stories, with wide folding doors, and a
bell cupola apart. Keith paused to admire the engine. It was of the type
usual in those days, consisting of a waterbox with inlet and outlet
connections, a pump atop, and parallel pump rails on either side, by the
hand manipulation of which the water was thrown with force from the
box. The vehicle was drawn by means of a long rope, carried on a drum.
This could be slacked off at need to accommodate as high as a hundred
men or as few as would suffice to move her. So far this engine differed
in no manner from those Keith had seen in the East. But this machine
belonged to a volunteer company, one of many and all rivals. It was
gayly coloured. On the sides of its waterbox were scenic paintings of
some little merit. The woodwork was all mahogany. Its brass
ornamentation was heavy and brought to a high state of polish. From a
light rack along its centre dangled two beautifully chased speaking
trumpets, and a row of heavy red-leather helmets. Axes nestled in

sockets. A screaming gilt eagle, with wings outspread, hovered atop.
Alongside the engine stood the hook and ladder truck and the hose cart.
These smaller and less important vehicles were painted in the same
scheme of colour, were equally glittering and polished. Keith
commented on all this admiringly.
"Yes," said Sherwood, "you see, since the big fires, it has become a
good deal a matter of pride. There are eleven volunteer companies, and
they are great rivals in everything, political and social, as well as in the
line of regular business, so to speak. Mighty efficient. You'll have to
join a company, of course; and you better look around a little before
deciding. Each represents something different--some different element.
They are really as much clubs as fire companies."
They mounted to the upper story, where Keith found himself in a long
room, comfortably fitted with chairs, tables, books, and papers. A
double door showed a billiard table in action. Sherwood indicated a
closed door across the hall.
"Card rooms," said he briefly.
The air was blue with smoke and noisy with rather vociferative
conversation and laughter. Several groups of men were gathered in
little knots. A negro in white duck moved here and there carrying a
tray.
Sherwood promptly introduced Keith to many of these men, and he was
as promptly asked to name his drink. Keith caught few of the names,
but he liked the hearty, instant cordiality. Remarking on the beauty and
order of the machines, loud cries arose for "Taylor! Bert Taylor!" After
a moment's delay a short, stocky, very red-faced man, with rather a
fussy manner, came forward.
"Mr. Keith," said a tall, dark youth, with a pronounced Southern accent,
"I want foh to make you acquainted with Mr. Tayloh. Mr.