Morris. "Has any one seen the
Montagues?"
"Mr. Morris! Mr. Morris!" said a frightened voices and young Charlie
Montague pressed through the people to us. "Where's papa?"
"I don't know. Where did you leave him?" said Mr. Morris, taking his
hand and drawing him closer to him. "I was sleeping in his room," said
the boy, "and a man knocked at the door, and said, 'Hotel on fire. Five
minutes to dress and get out,' and papa told me to put on my clothes and
go downstairs, and he ran up to mamma."
"Where was she?" asked Mr. Morris, quickly.
"On the fourth flat. She and her maid Blanche were up there. You know,
mamma hasn't been well and couldn't sleep, and our room was so noisy
that she moved upstairs where it was quiet." Mr. Morris gave a kind of
groan. "Oh, I'm so hot, and there's such a dreadful noise," said the
little boy, bursting into tears, "and I want mamma." Mr. Morris soothed
him as best he could, and drew him a little to the edge of the crowd.
While he was doing this, there was a piercing cry. I could not see the
person making it, but I knew it was the Italian's voice. He was
screaming, in broken English that the fire was spreading to the stables,
and his animals would be burned.
Pages:
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367