Tom Swift Among the Fire Fighters | Page 5

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 its way to the scene of excitement.
"I should say so! Must have been somebody hurt in that blow-up!"
"I only hope it wasn't Mary or her folks!" murmured Tom. "The wind is sweeping the fire right that way!"
"What are you going to do, Tom?" yelled his chum, as the business manager saw the young inventor heading directly for the blaze. "What's the idea?"
"To rescue Mary, if she's in danger!"
"I'm with you!" was Ned's quick response. "But you can't go any closer. The police are stretching the fire lines!"
"I guess they'll let me through!" said Tom grimly.
He slowed his car as he approached a place where an officer was driving back the throng that sought to come closer to the blaze.
"Git back! Git back, I tell you!" stormed the policeman, pushing against the packed bodies of men and boys. "There'll be another blow-up in a minute or two, and a lot more of you killed!"
"Are there any killed?" asked Tom, stopping the car near the officer.
"I guess so--yes. And some of the houses are catching. Git