d
not appear, like Ned, to court martyrdom.

While Ned and David subdued the flames above, Joe descended the escape,
and being by that time almost exhausted, sat down to rest with several
comrades who had endured the first shock of battle, while fresh men were
sent to continue the fight.

"Have a glass, Joe?" said one of the firemen, coming round with a bottle
of brandy.

"No, thank 'ee," said Joe, "I don't require it."

"Hand it here," said a man who stood leaning against the rails beside
him, "my constitution is good, like the British one, but it's none the
worse for a drop o' brandy after such tough work."

There was probably truth in what the man said. Desperate work sometimes
necessitates a stimulant; nevertheless, there were men in the Red
Brigade who did their desperate work on nothing stronger than water, and
Joe was one of these.

In three hours the fire was subdued, and before noon of that day it was
extinguished. The "report" of it, as published by the chief of the
Fire-Brigade next morning, recorded that a house in Ladbroke Square,
occupied by Mr Blank, a gentleman whose business was "private"--in
other words, unknown--had been set on fire by some "unknown cause," that
the whole tenement had been "burnt out" and "the roof off," and that the
contents of the building were "insured in the Phoenix."

Some of the firemen were sent home about daybreak, when the flames first
began to be mastered.

Joe was among these. He found Mary ready with a cup of hot coffee, and
the rosebud, who had just awakened, ready with a kiss. Joe accepted the
second, swallowed the first, stretched his huge frame with a sigh of
weariness, remarked to Mary that he would turn in, and in five minutes
thereafter was snoring profoundly.

CHAPTER THREE.

One pleasant afternoon in spring David Clazie and Ned Crashington sat
smoking together in front of the fire in the lobby of the station,
chatting of hair-breadth escapes by flood and fire.

"It's cold enough yet to make a fire a very pleasant comrade--w'en 'e's
inside the bars," observed David.

"H'm," replied Crashington.

As this was not a satisfactory reply, David said so, and remarked,
further, that Ned seemed to be in the blues.

"Wotever can be the matter wi' you, Ned," said David, looking at his
companion with a perplexed air; "you're a young, smart, 'ealthy fellar,
in a business quite to your mind, an' with a good-lookin' young wife at
'ome, not to mention a