Fighting the Flames

Fighting the Flames, by R.M. Ballantyne

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Fighting the Flames, by R.M. Ballantyne This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
Title: Fighting the Flames
Author: R.M. Ballantyne
Release Date: November 6, 2007 [EBook #23380]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FIGHTING THE FLAMES ***

Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England

Fighting the Flames, by R.M. Ballantyne.
CHAPTER ONE.
HOW THE FIGHT BEGAN.
One's own fireside is, to all well-regulated minds, a pleasant subject of contemplation when one is absent, and a source of deep gratification when present.
Especially may this be said to be the case in a cold, raw night in November, when mankind has a tendency to become chronically cross out of doors, and nature, generally, looks lugubrious; for, just in proportion as the exterior world grows miserably chill, the world "at home," with its blazing gas, its drawn curtains, its crackling fires, and its beaming smiles, becomes doubly comfortable and cosy.
Even James Auberly, pompous, stern, and ungenial though he was, appeared to entertain some such thoughts, as he sat by his own fireside, one such night, in his elegant mansion in Beverly Square, Euston Road, London; and smiled grimly over the top of the Times newspaper at the fire.
Mr Auberly always smiled--when he condescended to smile--grimly. He seldom laughed; when he did so he did it grimly too. In fact, he was a grim man altogether; a gaunt, cadaverous, tall, careworn, middle-aged man--also a great one. There could be no question as to that; for, besides being possessed of wealth, which, in the opinion of some minds, constitutes greatness, he was chairman of a railway company, and might have changed situations with the charwoman who attended the head office of the same without much difference being felt. He was also a director of several other companies, which, fortunately for them, did not appear to require much direction in the conduct of their affairs.
Mr Auberly was also leader of the fashion, in his own circle, and an oracle among his own parasites; but, strange to say, he was nobody whatever in any other sphere. Cabmen, it is true, appeared to have an immense respect for him on first acquaintance, for his gold rings and chains bespoke wealth, and he was a man of commanding presence, but their respect never outlived a first engagement. Cabmen seldom touched their hats to Mr Auberly on receiving their fare; they often parted from him with a smile as grim as his own, and once a peculiarly daring member of the fraternity was heard blandly to request him to step again into the cab, and he would drive him the "nine hundred and ninety-ninth part of an inch that was still doo on the odd sixpence." That generous man even went further, and, when his fare walked away without making a reply, he shouted after him that "if he'd only do 'im the honour to come back, he'd throw in a inch an' a half extra for nothink." But Mr Auberly was inexorable.
"Louisa, dear," said Mr Auberly, recovering from the grim smile which had indicated his appreciation of his own fireside, "pour me out another cup of coffee, and then you had better run away to bed. It is getting late."
"Yes, papa," replied a little dark-eyed, dark-haired girl, laying down her book and jumping up to obey the command.
It may be added that she was also dark-dressed, for Mr Auberly had become a widower and his child motherless only six months before.
While Louisa was pouring out the coffee, her father rose and turned his back to the fire.
It was really interesting, almost awe-inspiring, to behold Mr Auberly rise; he was so very tall, and so exceedingly straight. So remarkably perpendicular was he, so rigidly upright, that a hearty but somewhat rude sea-captain, with whom he once had business transactions, said to his mate on one occasion that he believed Mr Auberly must have been born with a handspike lashed to his backbone. Yes, he was wonderfully upright, and it would have been downright madness to have doubted the uprightness of the spirit which dwelt in such a body; so nobody did doubt it, of course, except a few jaundiced and sceptical folk, who never could be got to believe anything.
"Good-night, my love," said Mr Auberly, as the child placed the coffee beside his chair, and then advanced, somewhat timidly, and held up her cheek to be kissed.
The upright man stooped, and there was a shade less of grimness in his smile as his lips touched his daughter's pale cheek.
Louisa, or, to use the name by which she