"My dear Laura!" cried Mrs. Sweet "Won't you come and talk to me while we
are waiting?"

"Can't now, Mrs. Sweet. I am on duty," laughed Laura.

They could not hear what the mayor said, for they were two blocks away. But
they had an excellent view of the stand and the Red Cross booth, and the
crowd that pressed close to the police ropes.

Suddenly the mayor threw up his hand in command, and almost instantly--as
though he had himself switched off the light--all the street lamps in the
business section of Centerport went out The arc light over the spot where
Laura stood blinked, glowed for a moment, and then subsided. Mrs. Sweet
cried out in alarm.

"This is all right," Laura called to her. "Now watch."

The mayor, in the half-darkness, stepped down from the platform and threw
into the heart of the big bonfire the combustibles that set it off. The
flames leaped up, spreading rapidly. The crowd cheered as eight boys,
dressed in the knee-length dominos they had worn on the night of the ice
carnival, dashed into the ring with resinous torches. They thrust the
torches into the flames and the instant the torches were alight, they
wheeled and dashed away through the lanes the police had kept open.

The red flames dancing before the Red Cross booth, and the sparking,
flaming torches which the boys swung above their heads as they ran through
the crowd to the various corners where the red pots hung, made an inspiring
picture in the unwonted gloom of the streets.