“District ten,” responded Dewey tersely. “Must be the old apartment houses on Glendale Avenue or maybe the coal yards! Get down there, Charlie, right away! Where’s Ralston?”
“Not here yet,” spoke up Flash. “Nor Forrest either. Shall I go?”
“All right, Evans,” he muttered. “See what you can do. The fire may not amount to much.”
There was no mistaking the doubt in Dan Dewey’s voice. Everyone in the office had heard of Flash’s failure to bring back good pictures from the Gezzy-Brady fight. Since then he had been given only routine, unimportant assignments.
From far down the street came the wail of a fire siren. Spurred to action, Flash rushed back to the photographic department for his camera and equipment bag.
As he went hurriedly through the news room again, the alarm instrument sounded once more. Clang! Clang! Clang! followed by a space and ten quick taps.
“Get going, Evans!” shouted Dewey. “That’s a three-alarm!”
Clutching his camera, Flash bolted out the door. A three-alarm fire meant a front page story and a chance at front page pictures! This was his big opportunity to redeem himself for the Gezzy-Brady mistake. But he wouldn’t have long to work alone. Forrest and Ralston soon would be on the job.
As he reached the street he could see smoke rising in black clouds only a few blocks away. A bright red fire truck, brasswork gleaming, bell clanging, roared past.
Flash ran to the corner and signaled a man in a black coupe.
“Sure,” the man grinned, opening the door. “Hop in.”
Flash swung into the car, and they raced off in the wake of the thundering engine.
By the time the automobile reached Fulton street, Flash could see shooting flames. The entire southern sky had taken on a bright crimson glow, and a high wind, blowing from the direction of the waterfront, carried acrid fumes and smoke.
“Must be the old apartment house district!” Flash exclaimed. “The Werner coal yard is near there, too! If the fire really gets started, half of Brandale might go!”
The car came to a jerking halt in a traffic jam. Thanking the driver, Flash leaped out and ran the remaining two blocks.
A tangle of fire equipment laced the narrow street in front of the Elston Apartments, a ten-story brick building which was oozing smoke from beneath the flat roof. Already three pumpers, two rescue squads, and two hook-and-ladder trucks were at the scene, maneuvering into position.