again started, protesting,
with creaks, and groans, and various portentous rumblings in its inner
works, against the roughness of its treatment.

The frantic red-shirt-man howled through his trumpet that Hose 24-3/8
was coming. The boys looked back, and Hose 24-3/8 _was_ coming. Hose
24-3/8 came alongside. Hose 24-3/8 tried to go by. Hose 24-3/8 was
evidently striving to get to the fire in advance of her betters, but
Hose 24-3/8 couldn't do it--for, at this interesting juncture, 32-1/2's
fellows waked up to their work, and the race began. Single gentlemen got
into door-ways, or crawled under carts; the ladies who were in the
street at that time of night disappeared down oyster-cellars; the M.P.s
probably went through the coal-holes, for not one was at that instant
"visible to the naked eye." Stages, to get out of the way, turned down
alleys so narrow that they had to be drawn out backwards; an
express-wagon was run into, and wrecked on a pile of bricks; an early
milk-cart was left high and dry on a mountain of oyster-shells; a
belated hand-cart-man deserted his vehicle in the middle of the street,
and it was instantly demolished, while the owner was only preserved from
a similar fate by being knocked gently over a picket-fence into an area,
where there couldn't anybody get at him. In the height and very fury of
the race, the crowd rushed upon the Elephantines, who were gazing in
fancied security at the mixed-up spectacle before them. In an instant
they were all inextricably entangled in the rush; those that escaped
32-1/2 were caught up instantly by 24-3/8, and those who got away from
24-3/8, were seized upon by 32-1/2. It was no use resisting--on they
must go. The ponderosity of John Spout was no protection to him; nor did
the lankness of Dusenbury Quackenbush, and the unreliable appearance of
his legs, avail him anything. The quiet inoffensiveness of Van Dam was
not respected; no regard was paid to the philosophical composure of Mr.
Remington Dropper. The youthful face of Johnny Cake, too, availed
nothing in his favor. Mr. Boggs became involved, and all were
irretrievably mingled with the howling demi-devils who were racing for
the miniature purgatory, the flames from which could now be plainly
seen. It was "No. 1, round the corner," the residence of "My Uncle," and
each one was anxious to redeem his individual effects without going
through the formality of paying charges and giving up the tickets.

[Illustration]