Shea did get busy. Once he became stirred up, and he proved a valuable
helper. He went for the flames tooth and nail, smothered them with his
coat, regardless of consequences, after he had slipped that article of
wearing apparel off; kicked and tore and fought until it became evident
that between them they were certainly making a decided impression on the
threatening conflagration.

All this while it seemed to Frank that his heart was in his throat. Not
so much because he feared that they would fail to gain the mastery over
the fire as that some spark might find ingress to the shed and happen to
alight upon a can of the dangerous gasoline.

If such a thing occurred he knew that it would be all over. The hangar
must be completely destroyed and, of course, their little darling
airship would share in its fate.

So, even though he saw the end of the conflagration in sight, Frank knew
he had no reason to breathe easily until every spark had been trampled
under foot.

By now he was conscious of loud shouts coming from points near at hand
and realized that doubtless Andy as well as others had been awakened by
the racket and were coming on the run to assist. Had the safety of the
airship depended on their reaching the shed in time, though, its chances
would have been next to nothing.

Frank was just stamping on what seemed to be the very last vestige of
the fire when Andy came galloping to his side.