George Barr McCutcheon

Anderson Crow, Detective George Barr McCutcheon

"What say?" Patrick repeated his remark with great vigour, and Mr. Crow, apparently catching no more than the final word in the sentence, moved hastily away, but not before agreeing with Mr. Murphy that it was as hot as the place he mentioned. Ed Higgins, the feed-store man, was in charge of the fire-fighters, who were industriously throwing a single stream of water from the fire-cistern into the vast and towering conflagration. It was like tossing a pint of water into the Atlantic Ocean. "Got her under control?" roared Anderson, bristling up to Ed. "Sure!" shouted Ed. "She's workin' beautiful. Just look at that stream. You-" "I mean the fire," bellowed Anderson. "Oh, I thought you meant the engine. I don't think we'll get the fire under contral till the derned warehouse is burned down. Gee whiz, Chief, where you been? We waited as long as we could for you, and then-" "Don't blame me," was Anderson's answer.