She looked back over her shoulder in the direction of her kitchen, which, since all the houses were identical, was in the same position as our kitchen. “Jim!” she cried. “Do you hear this? McRory’s was burnt down last night. The whole place. Not a stick left … We slept right through it,” she said to me, looking as though just the thought of that heavy sleep puzzled and unsettled her.

Her husband hurried out to stand beside her, and I had to tell the whole story again. He said he would run around to McRory’s and take a look, and this enraged me, because I wasn’t allowed around there and I knew that when he came back he would be a greater authority than I. However, there was no time to lose. Other people were opening their front doors by now, and I wanted everyone to hear the news from me.

“Did you hear the news?” I shouted, to as many as I could catch up with, and, of course, once I had their ear, they were fascinated by what I had to tell. One or two of the men, hurrying away to work, charged past me with such forbiddingly closed faces that I was afraid to approach them, and they continued in their ignorance down toward Ranelagh Road, causing me dreadful anguish, because I knew that before they could board their tram or their bus, some officious busybody would be sure to treat them to my news. Then one woman, to whom I always afterward felt friendly, called down to me from her front bedroom window. “What’s that you were telling Mrs. Pearce?” she asked me, in a loud whisper.

“Oh, just that McRory’s was burnt to the ground last night. Nearly all the cars burnt up, too. Hardly anything left, my father says.” By this time I was being very offhand.

“You don’t tell me,” she said, making a delighted face, and the next thing I knew, she was opening her front door, more eager for news than anybody.

However, my hour of glory was short. The other children came out — some of them were actually allowed to go around and view the wreckage — and soon the fire was mine no longer, because there were others walking around who knew more about it than I did. I pretended to lose interest, although I was glad when someone — not my father — gave me a lump of twisted, blackened tin off one of the cars.