"Save him!" ejaculated the lawyer; "that's worse than mad! Malafert
alone can raise his bones along with 'Pot Rock.'"

Hal groaned aloud. Perhaps the stranger had no intention of going up the
river, until driven by them. It was a miserable thought, and hung with a
leaden weight upon Hal's spirit. He remained at home all the next day,
worn out and dejected. May rallied him.

"How I pity you, poor firemen! You get up at all times of the night,
work like soldiers on a campaign, and sometimes do not even get a 'thank
you' for your pay. You know I told you never to be a fireman!"

"I wish I had followed your advice," answered Hal, with something very
like a groan.

May started. She noticed how very pale he was, and bade him lie down on
the sofa. She brought a cushion, and sat down by his side.

"Now, Hal, you must tell me what troubles you. Has any one been
slandering the firemen? I will not permit that now, since I have so kind
a cousin in their ranks," said May, with a wicked little smile.

In vain she racked her brain for something to amuse him; Hal would not
be amused. She bade him come to the window and watch the fountain in
Union Park, but he strolled back immediately to the luxurious sofa, and
buried his face in his hands. At last he could endure his horrid secret
no longer; it scorched his brain and withered his very heart.

"May, you have not asked me if I saw the mysterious fireman last night?"