, was finally subdued. And what of the loss?
A hundred thousand pounds did not cover it, and every insurance office
in London suffered! In addition to this, several persons lost their
lives, while the Red Brigade, besides having some of their number more
or less severely injured, lost one of its best and bravest men.

Gallant Ned Crashington's fighting days were over. His mangled remains
were gathered up next morning, and, a few days later, were conveyed by
his comrades to their last resting-place.

It is no easy matter to move the heart of London. That vast
nation-in-a-city has too many diverse interests to permit of the eyes of
all being turned, even for a moment, upon one thing. Nevertheless the
fireman's funeral seemed to cause the great cord to vibrate for a
little. Hundreds of thousands of people turned out to witness the
cortege. Ned's coffin was drawn, military fashion, on one of the
engines peculiar to his profession, with his helmet and hatchet placed
upon the lid. The whole of the force of the brigade that could be
spared followed him in uniform, headed by their chief, and accompanied
by a large detachment of the police force. The procession was imposing,
and the notices that appeared next day in all the papers were a touching
tribute of respect to the self-sacrificing fireman, who, as one of these
papers said, "left a widow and son, in poor circumstances, to mourn his
early death."

Ah, these things were soon forgotten in the rush of the world's business
by all save that widow and son, and one or two bosom friends. Even the
men of the Red Brigade _appeared_ to forget the fallen hero very soon.
We say "appeared," because there were some among them who mourned Ned as
a dear brother, chief among whom was Joe Dashwood. But whatever the
feelings of the firemen might have been, theirs was a warfare that
allowed no time for the undue indulgence or exhibition of grief. The
regular "calls" and duties went on steadily, sternly, as if nothing had
occurred, and before Ned's remains had lain a night in their last
resting-place, many of his old comrades were out again doing fierce
battle with the restless and untameable flames.

CHAPTER NINE.

Years passed away, and with them many old things vanished, while many
novelties appeared, but the Red Brigade remained much as it was,
excepting that it was, if possible, smarter and more energetic than
ever.

In the lobby of our West-end station one pleasant