The morning call. [volume] (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1878-1895, 1894-01-04
jim.

As in the first gray light OF dawn, the
clammy sea mist began to show through
the stirring of the lace curtains at the
eastward looking windows, we put out
the gas which had made the room so hot,
and tired our eyes through the long night.
Poor old Jim in his coffin was not going
to rise and harm US.
Poor old Jim! His last words had been,
Take me home!" He had loved his home,
and though he had died in the hospital r
few hours after receiving those terrible
injuries which had brought him the great
est earthly reward. herO's death, we. his
old friends, had carried his body to the
little fiat that he had loved for the sake of
his brief married life with Susie.
Now this was the story and the romance
of Jim Gurnee's life.
In q quiet residence street OF generally
supposed responsibility, there had been a
blaze one night. a fiat house cheaply con-
structed in tenement style of small front
and rear apartments had taken fire in the
middle story. Up through the center shaft
the terrible smoke and flame shot 10 the
roof There were only rear fire escapes.
Four or five persons in the front had
probably been smothered and there was n
hope of getting at them. Sill there were
efforts made to the latest moment whe n
the roof crash came.
Jim Gurnee was one of the foremost to
the rescue. Tall, athletic. hOnest-eyed
Jim Gurnee-the fellow that everybody
liked whether they knew him much or
little. Jim went up at the greatest peril
and brought down young wOman-a girl.
il seemed to him-who was wringng her
hands and about to fling herself to the
ground below. GOlden-haired, her long
tresses streaming about her shoulders. with
a childish daintily rounded face and soft
little hands, whose velvet touch thrilled
him for hours after they had ceased to
cling round his neck.
but why, my childo" he asked gently,
when she sobbed and would not let him
go-"But where are your relatives? Was
there no one in the house with yOu?"
And then she told him that she had lived
alone there. Her name was Susie
Bradford.
The truth of her history was that she
had once been a clerk in one of the large
dry goods shops-at a pitiful salary. She
had no home, and at the very cheapest
boarding place she could obtain she bad
to pay out weekly nearly every cent OF her
earnings. Was 1t such tremendous won
der if she, pretty girl, with refined ways,
a fairly good country academy education.
ewes that saw city sights ana ears that heard
city sounds, should succumb to the pro-
testatiOns of man of some wealth. who
had fancied her for while and estab-
lished her in q cheap little fiat? Was it
any wonder when this man suddenly de-
parted for Europe for an indefinite stay
that she should listen TO the voice of au-
other equally unprincipled?
Under these conditions Susie Bradford
had lived for some months; improvident
and inexperienced in using money, she had
not laid aside a penny. The furniture eli
her fiat was not insured.
When Jim GurDee carried her down to
the street she had not a penny or a gar
ment, save what she wore, in the world.
No wonder she sobbed. She had no re-
spectacle friends to turn to-for to those
she had once known her Whereabouts had
long been mystery.
Did he guess the truth? Did Jim Cur
nee guess her history? Had he the slight
est suspicion that he had saved not only
body from flame, but possibly soul from
shame?
What could he do? He could not go off
duty. Jim turned and saw the face of a
friend in the crowd at the edge of the fire.
line. Take her," he said; do me this as
a favor. Take her around to my aunt in
the avenue. You know the number. 1t
isn't but three blocks. Tell my aunt
sent her, and ask her to do everything
kind and right"