“But what are you going to do, Tom, if you don’t use water?” asked Ned, wonderingly.

“I don’t know—­yet, but I know water is the worst thing you can put on carbide,” returned Tom.  For all he spoke Slowly his brain was working fast.  Already, even now, he was planning how best to give battle to the flames.

It needed but an instant’s thought on the part of Ned to make him understand that Tom was right.  It would be well-nigh fatal to use water on carbide.  Those of you who have bicycle lanterns, in which that not very pleasant-smelling chemical is used, know that if a few drops of water are allowed to drip slowly on the gray crystals acetylene gas is generated, which makes a brilliant light.  But, if the water drips too fast, the gas is generated too quickly, and an explosion results.  In lamps, of course, and in lighting plants where carbide is used, there are automatic arrangements to prevent the water flowing too freely to the chemical.  But Tom knew if the hose were turned on the fire in the red shed a great explosion would result, for some of the tins of carbide would be melted by the heat.

Yet the fire needed to be coped with.  Already the flames were coming through the roof, and the windows and door were spouting red fire and volumes of smoke.

Several other employees of Tom’s plant had made ready to unreel more hose, but the warning of the young inventor, shouted to Eradicate and Koku, had had its effect.  Every man dropped the line he had begun to unreel.

“Ha!  Massa Tom say drop de hose, but how yo’ gwine t’ squirt watah on a fire wifout a hose; answer me dat?” and Eradicate looked at Koku.

“Me no know,” was the slow answer.  “I guess Koku go pull shed down and stamp out fire.”

“Huh!  Maybe yo’ could do dat in cannibal land, where yo’ all come from,” spoke Eradicate, “but yo’ can’t do dat heah!  ’Sides, de red shed will blow up soon.  Dere’s suffin’ else in dere except carbide, an’ dat’s gwine t’ go up soon, dat’s suah!”

“Maybe you get your strong man-mule, Boomerang,” suggested Koku.  “Nothing ever hurt him—­explosion or nothing.  He can kick shed all to pieces, and put out fire.”

“Dat’s what I wanted t’ do, but Massa Tom say I cain’t,” explained the colored man.  “Golly!  Look at dat fire!”

Indeed the blaze was now assuming alarming proportions.  The red shed, which was not a small structure, was blazing on all sides.  About it stood the men from the various shops.

“Tom, you must do something,” said Mr. Swift.  “If the flames once reach that helmanite—­”

“I know, Father.  But that explosive is in double vacuum containers, and it will be safe for some time yet.  Besides, it’s in the cellar.  It’s the carbide I’m most worried about.  We daren’t use water.”

“But something will have to be done!” exclaimed Mr. Damon.  “Bless my red necktie, if we don’t—­”

“Better get back a way,” suggested Tom.  “Something may go off!”