'Jump now yourself!' called the policeman, while two more men
silently joined the four holding the corners of the quilt. Every eye
was fixed on the motionless figure of Marm Lisa, who had drawn her
shawl over her head, as if just conscious of nearer heat.
The wind changed, and blew the smoke away from her figure. The men
on the roof stopped work, not caring for the moment whether they
saved the tenement house or not, since a human life was hanging in
the balance. The intoxicated woman threw a beer-bottle into the
street, and her son ran up from the crowd and locked her safely in
her kitchen at the back of the house.
'Jump this minute, or you're a dead girl!' shouted the officer,
hoarse with emotion. 'God A'mighty, she ain't goin' to jump--she's
terror-struck! She'll burn right there before our eyes, when we
could climb up and drag her down if we had a long enough ladder!'
'They've found another ladder and are tying two together,' somebody
said.
'The fire company's comin'! I hear 'em!' cried somebody else.
'They'll be too late,' moaned Rhoda, 'too late! Oh, Mary, make her
jump!'
Lisa had felt no fear while she darted through smoke and over charred
floors in pursuit of Atlantic--no fear, nothing but joy when she
dragged him out from under bench and climbed to the window-sill with
him,--but now that he was saved she seemed paralysed.
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