Produced by Richard Tonsing, ellinora, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
[Illustration: ‘“Well my boy,” said the chief of battalion, “what can I do for you?”’—_Frontispiece._]
_Author of “Hypnotic Tales,” “Dr. Dodd’s School,” etc._
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter I. Chapter II. Chapter III. Chapter IV. Chapter V. Chapter VI. Chapter VII. Chapter VIII. Chapter IX. Chapter X. Chapter XI. Chapter XII. Chapter XIII. Chapter XIV. Chapter XV. Chapter XVI. Chapter XVII. Chapter XVIII. Chapter XIX. Chapter XX. Chapter XXI. Chapter XXII. Chapter XXIII. Chapter XXIV. Chapter XXV. Chapter XXVI. Chapter XXVII. Chapter XXVIII. Chapter XXIX. Chapter XXX. Chapter XXXI. Chapter XXXII. Chapter XXXIII. Chapter XXXIV. Chapter XXXV. Chapter XXXVI. Chapter XXXVII. Chapter XXXVIII. Chapter XXXIX. Chapter XXXX. Chapter XXXXI.
“Well my boy what can I do for you?” _Frontispiece_
“Well, Pete, old fellow, I’ve heard of you many a time.” 8
Chief Trask explains the fire box to Bruce. 17
“For fully a minute Bruce stood looking at the house.” 47
Bruce tells Laura the story of his visit to Mr. Dexter’s house. 72
Bruce in Mr. Dewsnap’s “fire library.” 79
“Never in his life had Bruce known such a reckless ride.” 91
“He managed to climb out on the ladder.” 156
“So you’ve been in the hospital, have you?” 225
“Mr. Dexter * * * held out his hand for the address.” 257
“Skinny writes a letter to Mr. Korwein.” 270
“And so this is the business you conduct, is it?” 317
“The horses bounded to their places.” 343
“A single slip or false step on his part meant death.” 368
“Do you see that boy sitting on the curbstone over the way? Well, he’s been there for the last half hour, and I’d just like to know what he’s up to. Run over, Charley, and ask him what he wants.”
It was John Trask, a chief of battalion in the New York Fire Department who addressed these words to his subordinate, Charley Weyman, one pleasant afternoon in early spring, and the boy to whom he referred had been sitting for some time on the curbstone across the street from the hook and ladder company’s quarters, peering anxiously through the open door which afforded him a view of the hook and ladder truck, the horses quietly munching their hay, and, in the rear room, half a dozen firemen seated about a table talking, reading or playing checkers.