From the windows above came a steady stream of
articles, thrown among the crowd. A mirror struck Mr. Morris on the arm,
and a whole package of clothes fell on his head and almost smothered
him; but he brushed them aside and scarcely noticed them. There was
something the matter with Mr. Morris--I knew by the worried sound of his
voice when he spoke to any one, I could not see his face, though it was
as light as day about us, for we had got jammed in the crowd, and if I
had not kept between his feet, I should have been trodden to death. Jim,
being larger than I was, had got separated from us.
Presently Mr. Morris raised his voice above the uproar, and called, "Is
every one out of the hotel?" A voice shouted back, "I'm going up to
see."
"It's Jim Watson, the fireman," cried some one near. "He's risking his
life to go into that pit of flame. Don't go, Watson." I don't think that
the brave fireman paid any attention to this warning, for an instant
later the same voice said, "He's planting his ladder against the third
story. He's bound to go. He'll not get any farther than the second,
anyway."
"Where are the Montagues?" shouted Mr.
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