wn so
completely that he sent him head-over-heels into the kennel, and,
passing on, darted at the fire-bell of the station, which he began to
pull violently.

The man was tall and dishevelled, partially clad in blue velvet, with
stockings which had once been white, but were now covered from garter to
toe with mud. One shoe clung to his left foot, the other was fixed by
the heel in a grating over a cellar-window in Tottenham Court Road.
Without hat or coat, with his shirt-sleeves torn by those unfortunates
into whose arms he had wildly rushed, with his hair streaming backwards,
his eyes blood-shot, his face pale as marble, and perspiration running
down his cheeks, not even his own most intimate friends would have
recognised Hopkins--the staid, softspoken, polite, and gentle Hopkins--
had they seen him that night pulling like a maniac at the fire-bell.

And, without doubt, Hopkins _was_ a maniac that night--at least he was
afflicted with temporary insanity!

CHAPTER THREE.

FIRE!!!

"Hallo, that'll do, man!" cried the same stalwart fireman who had seized
the small boy, stepping out and laying his hand on Hopkins's shoulder,
whereabouts is it?

Hopkins heard him not. One idea had burnt itself into the poor man's
brain, and that was the duty that lay on him to ring the alarm-bell!
Seeing this, the fireman seized him, and dragged him forcibly--almost
lifted him--into the station, round the door of which an eager crowd had
already begun to collect.

"Calm yourself," said the stalwart fireman quietly, as he thrust Hopkins
down into a chair. "Consider now. You'll make us too late if you don't
speak. Where is it?"

"B-B-Fire!" yelled Hopkins, gasping, and glaring round him on the men,
who were quietly putting on their helmets.

Hopkins suddenly burst from the grasp of his captor, and, rushing out,
seized the bell-handle, which he began to pull more furiously than ever.

"Get her out, Jim," said the fireman in a low tone to one of his
comrades ("her" being the engine); at the same time he went to the door,
and again seizing Hopkins, brought him back and forced him into a chair,
while he said firmly:

"Now, then, out with it, man; where's the fire?"

"Yes, yes," screamed Hopkins, "fire! fire that's it! B-! B-Beverly!--
blazes!--square!--number--Fire!"

"That'll do," said the fireman, at once releasing the temporary maniac,
and going to a book where he calmly made an entry of the name of the
square, the