This sort of work was intended, of course, to confine or check the fire
within the area already affected, and could accomplish nothing toward
saving the structures already alight. The roar of the flames, the hissing
of firebrands sucked upward, the crash of timbers, the shrieks of the
foremen through their trumpets, the yells of applause or of sarcasm from
the crowd, and the _thud, thud, thud, thud_ of numerous brake bars made a
fine pandemonium. Everybody except the owners or tenants of the buildings
was delighted.

Keith, with two others, was instructed to carry the Monumental nozzle to
the roof of a house not afire. Proudly they proceeded to use their scaling
ladders. These were a series of short sections, each about six feet long,
the tops slightly narrower than the bottoms. By means of slots these could
be fitted together. First, Keith erected one of them against the wall of
the building, at an angle, and ascended it, carrying another section across
his shoulder. When he reached a certain rung, which was painted red, he
thrust his foot through the ladder and against the wall, pushed the ladder
away from the wall, and fitted the section he was carrying to the top of
the section on which he was standing. He then hauled up another section and
repeated. When the ladder had reached to the eaves, he and his companions
dragged the squirting, writhing hose up with them, chopped footholds in the
roof, and lay flat to look over the ridgepole as over a breastwork. All
this to the tune of admiring plaudits and with a pleasing glow of heroism.
There was a skylight, but either they overlooked or scorned that prosaic
expedient.

At the other end of the ridgepole Keith made out the dark forms of two men
from another company. His own companions, acting under orders, now
descended the ladder, leaving him alone.