fire-engines standing idle and dropping cinders into their own puddles in
a kind of shame for their little worth; here and there one furiously
sucking at an exhausted well while its firemen stood with scorching faces
holding the nozzles almost in the flames and cursing the stream of
dribbling mud that fell short of their gallant endeavor. I seemed to see
streets populous with the sensation-seeking crowd; sidewalks and alleys
filled with bedding, chairs, bureaus, baskets of crockery and calico
clothing with lamps spilling into them, cheap looking-glasses unexpectedly
answering your eye with the boldness of an outcast girl, broken tables,
pictures of the Virgin, overturned stoves, and all the dear mantlepiece
trash which but an hour before had been the pride of the toiling
housewife, and the adornment of the laborer's home.

"Where can I see this apparatus?" I asked my patient interviewer.

"Well--ahem! it isn't what you'd call an apparatus, exactly. I have
here----"

"Yes; never mind that just now; I'm satisfied you've got a good thing and
--I'll tell you! Can you come in to-morrow at this hour? Good! I wish you
would! Well, good-day."

The secretary was waiting to speak to me. The fire, he said, had entirely
burned up one square and was half through a second. "By the way, isn't
that the street where old P.T.B.----"

"Yes," I replied, taking my hat; "if anyone wants to see me, you'd better
tell him to call to-morrow."

I found the shop in St. Peter's Street shut, and went on to the new