Tom Swift Among the Fire Fighters | Page 5

time. Is my father
all right, Rad?"
"Yes, suh, Massa Tom, he's done sleepin' good."
"Then don't disturb him. Mr. Newton and I will go to the fire. I'm glad
it isn't here," and Tom looked from a side window out on many shops
that were not a great distance from the house; shops where he and his
father had perfected many inventions.
The buildings had grown up around the old Swift homestead, which,
now that so much industry surrounded it, was not the most pleasant
place to live in. Tom and his father only made this their stopping place
in winter. In the summer they dwelt in a quiet cottage far removed from
the scenes of their industry.
"We'll take the electric runabout, Ned," remarked Tom, as he caught up
a hat from the rack, an example followed by his friend. Together the
young inventor and the financial manager hurried out to the garage,
where Tom soon had in operation a small electric automobile, that,
more than once, had proved its claim to being the "speediest car on the
road."
As they turned out of the driveway into the street they became aware of
great crowds making their way toward a glow of sinister red light
showing in the eastern sky.
"Some blaze!" exclaimed Tom, as he turned on more power.
"You said it!" ejaculated Ned. "Must be a general alarm," he added, as

they caught the sound from the next street of additional apparatus
hurrying to the fire.
"Well, I'm glad it isn't on our side of town," remarked Tom, as he
looked back at the peaceful gloom surrounding and covering his own
home and work buildings.
"Where do you reckon it is?" asked Ned, as they sped onward.
"Hard to say," remarked the young inventor, as he steered to one side to
pass a powerful imported automobile which, however, did not have the
speed of the electric runabout. "A fire at night is always deceiving as to
direction. But we can locate it when we get to the top of the hill."
Shopton, the suburb of the town where Tom lived, was named so
because of the many shops that had been erected by the industry of the
young inventor and his father. In fact the town was named Shopton
though of late there had been an effort to change the name of the
strictly residential section, which lay over the hill toward the river.
Tom's car shot up the slope with scarcely any slackening of speed, and,
as he passed a group of men and boys running onward, Tom shouted:
"Where is it?"
"The fireworks factory!" was the answer.
"Fireworks factory!" cried Ned. "Bad place for a fire!"
"I should say so!" exclaimed Tom.
The chums had become gradually aware of the gale that was blowing,
and, as they reached the summit of the hill and caught sight of the
burning factory, they saw the flames being swept far out from it and
toward a collection of houses on the other side of a vacant lot that
separated the fireworks industrial plant from the dwellings. As Tom
Swift glimpsed the fire, noted its proportions and the fierceness of the
flames, and saw which way the wind was blowing them, he turned on

the power to the utmost.
"What are you doing, Tom?" yelled Ned.
"I'm going down there!" cried Tom. "That place is likely to explode any
minute!"
"Then why go closer?" gasped Ned, for his breath was almost taken
away by the speed of the car, and he had to hold his hat to keep it from
blowing away. "Why don't you play safe?"
"Don't you understand?" shouted Tom in his chum's ear. "The wind is
blowing the fire right toward those houses! Mary Nestor lives in one of
them!"
"Oh--Mary Nestor!" exclaimed Ned. Then he understood--Mary and
Tom were engaged to be married.
"They may be all right," Tom went on. "I can't be sure from this
distance. Or they may be in danger. It's a bad fire and--"
His voice was blotted out in the roar of an explosion which seemed to
hurl back the electric runabout and bring it to a momentary stop.


CHAPTER II
NO USE OF LIVING!
Only momentarily was Tom Swift halted in his progress toward the
scene of the blaze in the fireworks factory. To him, and to the chum
who sat beside him on the seat of the electric runabout, it appeared that
the blast had actually stopped the progress of the car. But perhaps that
was more their imagination than anything else, for the machine swept
on down the hill, at the foot of which was the conflagration.

"That was a bad one, Ned!" gasped Tom, as he turned to one side to
pass an engine on