hand went to his face—and the nozzle almost wrenched itself from the engineer's grasp.
"It's a grand race!" laughed Gilleen, but the laugh was more of a gasping cough, and the cough came from cracked and swollen lips. "It's a grand race, Regan; an' the blood"
With a choking sob, Regan steadied himself and seized hold of the nozzle again.
They held where they were now—it was the fire, not they, that was creeping forward, pitilessly, inevitably, licking greedily at the tarred roof until it grew soft beneath their feet and the bubbles puffed up and formed and broke.
A cry of warning came from below, and with it came the ominous rending groan of yielding timbers. It came again, the cry, and rang in Gilleen's ears almost without sense. He could scarcely see, his eyes were scorched and blinded, his lungs were full of the stinging smoke, choking full. Beside him Regan hung, dropping weak. "Get back, for God's sake, get back!" it was Carleton's voice. "Do you hear!" shouted the super frantically. "Get back! The roof is sagging! Run for"
Like the roar of a giant blast, as a park of artillery belches forth in deafening thunder, there came a terrific crash and, fearful in its echo, a cry of horror rose from those below. Where there had been roof a foot in front of the men was now—nothingness.
Gilleen, with a shout, as he felt the edge crumple under him, flung himself backward and as he leaped he snatched at Regan, His fingers brushed the master
