Tom Swift Among the Fire Fighters | Page 7

Victor Appleton
at home some time now, and it was while going over his
accounts with Ned, and, incidentally, planning new activities, that the
cry of fire broke in on them.
"Whew, Tom, some heat there!" gasped Ned, lowering his arm from his
face, an action which had been necessitated by Tom's daring in driving
the car close to the blazing fireworks factory.
"I should say so!" agreed Tom. "I can almost smell the rubber of my
tires burning. But we're out of the worst of it."
"Lucky she didn't take the notion to blow up as we were passing,"

grimly commented Ned. "Where are you aiming for now?"
"Mary's house. It's just beyond here. But we can't see it on account of
the smoke."
A few seconds later they had passed through the black pall that was
slashed here and there with red slivers of flame, and, coming to a more
open space, Ned and Tom cleared their eyes of smoke.
"I guess there's no immediate danger," remarked Tom, as he saw that
the home of Mary Nestor and the houses near her residence were, for
the time being, out of the path of the flames. The explosion had blown
down part of the blazing factory nearest the residential section, and the
flames had less to feed on.
But the conflagration was still a fierce one. Not half the big factory was
yet consumed, and every now and then there would sound dull,
booming reports, causing nervous screams from the women who were
out in front of their homes, while the men would crouch down as
though fearing a shower of fiery embers.
"Oh, Tom, I'm so glad you're here!" cried Mary, as the runabout drew
up in front of her home. "Do you think it will be much worse?" and she
clutched his arm, as he got down to speak to her.
"I think the worst is over, as far as you people here are concerned," the
young inventor replied. "The wind has shifted a bit."
"And there are several engines near us, Tom," said Mr. Nestor, coming
forward. "The firemen tell me they will play streams of water on the
roofs and outsides of our houses if the flames start this way again."
"That ought to do the trick," said Tom, with a show of confidence.
"Anybody hurt around here?" he asked. "One of the policeman said he
heard several were killed."
"They may have been--in the factory," said Mr. Nestor. "Of course if
the fire and explosions had taken place in the daytime the loss of life

would have been great. But most of the workers had left some time
before the blaze was discovered. There are a few men on a night shift,
though, and I shouldn't be surprised but what some of them had
suffered."
"Too bad!" murmured the young inventor. "You're not worried about
your home, are you, Mrs. Nestor?" he asked of Mary's mother.
"Oh, Tom, I certainly am!" she exclaimed. "I wanted to bring out our
things, but Mr. Nestor said it wouldn't be of any use."
"Neither it would, if we've got to burn, but I don't believe we
have--now," said her husband. "That last explosion and the shift of the
wind saved us. I appreciate your coming over, Tom," he went on. "We
might have needed your help. It's queer there isn't some better, or more
effective, way of fighting a fire than just pouring on a comparatively
insignificant bit of water," he added, as, from what was now a safe
distance, they watched the firemen using many lines of hose.
"They do have chemical extinguishers," said Ned.
"Yes, for little baby blazes that have just started," went on Mr. Nestor.
"But in all the progress of science there has not been much advance in
fighting fires. We still do as they did a hundred years ago--squirt water
on it, and mighty little of it compared to the blaze. It would take a week
to put this fire out by the water they are using if it were not for the fact
that the blaze eats itself up and has nothing more to feed on."
"We'll have to get Tom to invent a new way of fighting fire," remarked
Ned.
The young inventor was about to reply when several firemen, equipped
with smoke helmets which they adjusted as they ran, came running
down the street.
"What's the matter?" asked Tom of one whom he knew.
"Some men are trapped in a small shed back of the factory," was the

answer. "We just heard of it, and we're going in after them. Oh!
Oh--my--my heart!" he gasped, and he sank to the sidewalk. Evidently
he was either overcome by the smoke and poisonous gases or by his
exertions.
Tom grasped the situation instantly. Taking the
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