Evening Republican, Volume 15, Number 181, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 2 August 1911 — THROUGH THE FIRE [ARTICLE]

THROUGH THE FIRE

By BRYANT C. ROGERS

Mill? Hope had not slept well, as Her dull, puffy eyes indicated. Even the coil of auburn hair, usually arranged with tantalising grace, betrayed the disorder of her mind in its careless disarray. . ; =. , Seated before the- switchboard, answering calls, taking down messages, ringing up different offices in the yard, she attended to the necessary part of her work only. For once her voice, in repeating a call, was sharp and even impatient In all of her five years as chief night operator in the Chicago freight house this bad never before occurred. As the men passed through the office that evening, a few minutes before 10, to register on the big clock, each called out some salutation to •Milly, who was a great favorite. Instead of responding, she shrugged or frowned dr bit her lips in pretended absorption. “Don’t sulk, MiUybawled out the superintendent, as he paused on the threshold. “Carl won't come back any the quicker for your scowls, when little Margaret has smiles to spare.’’ She returned no answer, but applied herself more closely to her duties. Despite her self-control, a tear splashed on the message she was recording.

“Snags, my child-?’’ The gruff voice of Bankß, “father” of the machine shops—the oldest man at the works, was kind and did not" wound. Milly raised her wet eyes mutely. He shook his head.

“Men are funny brutes, Milly. Carl is fond of you; but he’s like the rest of us. He won’t stand for nagging nor being hectored. I once was young and now that I am old, I haveti’t forgot the girl I loved first and best. We had a little difference just like you and Carl. We never made it up. We were both too spunky.” He sighed and slowly quitted the room.

Thank heaven, she was at last alone! How her head ached! She closed her eyes. The salty tears stung the lids. Only two more of the night shift must register. They were late already. Why didn’t they come? —Carl Meurer and Margaret Donnelly. There was a time when Carl had alwaya come first and lingered as long as possible. That was before — before Margaret Donnelly came to act as typewriter in the superintendent’s ofilee.

The essence of bitterness lay in the fact that it was through her efforts that Margaret had come. She had been soryy for the girl—one of a big, shiftless family. Till her advent, Milly had been queen of the freight house. She was willingly worshipped. Little wonder that she became domineering even to Carl Meurer. Margaret, on the contrary, was bright and obliging, with a seductive. Irish tongue, and when Milly sent'him to the right about for Some trifling matter be promptly availed himself of the other girl’s ready smiles and good-humored comradeship.

The other men in the yard where he was foreman had widened the breach by teasing him about being "bossed." This was gall to the highepirlted German. He would have, been willing to die for a woman, yet he' would not submit to leading strings.

As Milly brooded over her troubles, which /had kept her awake all that day, a pretty laugh rang through the office, and Margaret pushed open the swinging doors and entered, followed by Meurer. They made a simultaneous rush forfthe clock to register on time. Margaret did not speak to the operator, but with another laugh passed through the door of exit, followed by Meurer, who had taken no notice of Milly either. As the night wore on Milly’s distraction increased. She imagined that she heard sounds that had no basis— Carl’s footstep, his voice in her very ear—but when she started and gazed around there was only the vacant office and the incessant murmur from the great city, which could not even sleep quietly. ' The bodiless whispering had ceased at last, but at about 3 o’clock In morning a dull, persistent roar began to hammer her ear drums. Her halfdazed brain became gripped by a spasm of terror. Was she going mad? She abandoned the switchboard and moved across to one of the windows glaring palely with the reflection of the street lamps. She looked .flown on the sidewalk far below—noted the stagnation, saw a solitary pedestrian . and heard the tramp of his feet on the pavement Still the roar surged against her ears. It was sinister. ■She swung away from the front window and turned her attention to those commanding the freight yard. Down somewhere in that intricate mass of men and machinery was the yard foreman, Carl Meurer. There he was king. Her heart swelled with pride, but as abruptly contracted with Jealous palg. She suppresesd the outcry of agony that pressed. against her clinched teeth and forced herself to sit once more at the switchboard. For a full half-hour she settled down to routine work, but at last the pear-ending roar that seemed to permeate every corner of the room became intolerable With a desperate gesture she sprang erect and began to pace the floor. This could be no mere halloclna-

Hon. She halted in the center of the office, then suddenly shrieked aloud as the reason for this dreadful turmoil swept across her faculties, clearing them instantly. The freight* house was on fire.

A panther-like spring across the floor and one glance through the doors revealed sinuous coils of writhing smoke ascending the air currents. How long had the fire been at work? Had she time to escape by the stairs? Her foot was on the landing when it occurred to Milly that all of the workers in the yard were in the greatest jeopardy—trapped literally by the towerihg walls of the freight house. And Carl was there — Carl! ■ , - She dashed across to the switchboard and began notifying the men in the yard of the fire. She called up Meurer as calmly as the others — heard his slow, deep voice merging into a shout of excitement. Suddenly her blanched face went whiter than ever.

“Call up Miss Donnelly; you can get her before any of the rest of us. Hur——”

But Milly flung the receiver from her with a maniacal laugh and leaped toward the door once again.

So the little senseless chit was in peril—extreme peril, perhaps. So be it! The ground floor might be a mass of flames before she had an inkling. No one could reach her, either, at this hour except over the switchboard in the main office, and Milly controlled that. She hung for a moment above the well-like stairs, then skimmed down the broad steps. One flight was accomplished—another was begun—now she was at the third landing. Here the smokff was more dense. She could hear the rending snarl of tho flames; catch a sickening whiff from the cellars where the stored merchandise was burning. A burst of fresh, outside air dispersed the smoke-clouds an instant. Milly gulped greedily, was refreshed and, with returning vigor, a full appreciation of her own detestable * mduct, passed through her heart like the thrust Of a sword.

Had she time left In which to warn the girl? She wheeled and took the stairs with frantic speed. The ascending flights seemed endless. To breathe mearft acute pain—her muscles refused to obey, her limbs to bear her up. Midway on the last flight she sank to her knees. A hot gust swept up from the inferno beneath but it Stirred her heavy limbs so that she could crawl the remainder of the distance.

Somehow she reached the switchboard and stirrdO, schooling herself to be rational, laying fast hold of her reeling brain, she called up the superintendent’s office. Would the operator never answer—perhaps she — Margaret—was already past human aid—

Finally Margaret’s voice, barely recognizable, so hoarse and terrified, reached Milly. “That isn’t you, surely! Yes! Yes! We are safe here, but don’t you know —you are cut off by fire, they say. Poor, poor Milly—*—’’ The receiver fell from Milly’s nerveless fingers. She had finished her work. She had fought the good fight She

Red fire danced before her receding vision, something snapped In her overtaxed brain and she lurched forward insensible, as a volume of smoke poured into the room. 4 * • * * - • • ■

The fire was a thing of the past when Milly, In the gray dawn, struggled back to consciousness. She was on the lounge in the superintendent’s office, where she had been borne by Carl after be had made a desperate dash through the blinding smoke to rescue her. His usually full, rosy face was blanched and ghastly as he knelt beside her. “Was every one saved?” she whispered. “Dearest!”

“Why are you crying, Call?” She made an effort to rise; her eyes were pathetic In their terror. "Was Margaret not saved after all?” “Every one was saved, every one. But, Milly, how near 1 came to losing you!” “It was worth while.” Delicate color wavered across her white face. “Worth while! Oh, Milly!” “Yes, Carl; because I found you.”