Courier Democrat. (Langdon, N.D.) 1891-1920, 1896-09-03
WHITTIER!

WHITTIER!
Fire!
A dream, strange, complex, terrible.
A murmur which grows to be a roar.
Fiery eyes, sardonic, revolving in q
drift of fog; shrek shaping itselffrom
out a chorus of mad laughter into the
word:
Fire!
And a man awakes, and sitting in
his bed grasps a quick succession of
ideas. A hotel room, dingy, COM
monplace. The first hour of q last
day. And from the street beneath
breathes fort volume of sound never
before heard but in dream. Yet it is
no dream.
A few thoughts shape themselves
out of chaos.
I Life. It lies behind him honestly
lived in the sight of men. 1t has been
an indomitable struggle for right and
rest and home.
Home. That place which he had
won and where love lived. When few
hours before he had laid his head on
his pillow he had whispered:
II shall be at home tomorrow"
The future. A shallow chance. Sud-
denly he springs erect. In grim haste
vet in a certain business-like fashion
he throws open his door. Smoke
blinds him, and one glance sufices to
show him the elevator shaft a CHM
ney of flames. He closes the door,
secures it, and throws travelling rug
before it to still further obstruct any
draught beneath. Then he springs to
the window and opens it. It is no
dream. There they are, the sea OF
faces, Redeemed and made demoniacal
by something OF which as yet he can
see nothing, though his ears hear it's
muffed voice, cracking, whispering,
kissing. 1t is behind below and above
him.
He turns and hastily dons a few
garments, securing a roll of bills and
some papers. Again he appears at
the window.
Don't jump! Don't jump!" below
the crowd beneath him. He smiles,
and wonders how they could think he
would be SO reckless, for he is five
stories above their heads.
OF course it will be all right. He
will escape. He sees the tiremen, the
ladders, the water spouting from the
serpent-like coils Of hose. He hears
the cheers, mighty, sonorous, which
greet each rescue.
When shall his turn come? They
had best make haste. For what is
that? Through his keyhole a fairy
spiral is stealing. At first, sharp, del
icately outlined, yet after few curves
dissolviug mistily.
And as he watched he saw his trav-
cling rug become obscured, then sheets
of mist stole slyly through each crack
about the door. The window! It
was open, and increased the haste by
which Death would ight-come to
him. He sprang nilmbly out upon it's
sill. It was broad and strong, he no
ted with relief. He sat upon it and
deliberately pushed the sash down,
leaving only small space through
which he could still reach within the
room or return if necessary.
A great shout was thrown upward
by the crowd. Help was coming.
But as yet he could not see how.
How sincerely he invited the poorest
and meanest on in the sea of human
ity down there in the street! AS he
sat he saw thing go hurting past
him SO closely that he felt the current
OF air it made in falling 1t came from
the window above him. An abrupt
groan from the multitude told MIN
where it struck. No! He would not
Jump he would burn first.
And then he turned his strained
eyes into the room he had just left.
The bed, the chair on which his clothes
were spread were hidden now by q
dull pail OF smoke. Suddenly little
laughter of Pickering light rushed mer-
rily up one side of the framework of
the door. Another minute and the
flame grew into square OF fire.
Hideous, relentless, it danced about,
Selling the tawdry furnishings OF the
hotel room in it's amorous embrace.
81 have tried to be square! God
knows if there is q God-I have tried
to be square!' broke from the mans
white lips.
Then there came q puff-a sensation
of warmth, scarcity of air for his
lungs-and the smoke began to caress
him where he sat outside upon the
window ledge. Inch by inch it was
forcing him from his position. Yet.
he would not jump. Never! he told
himself, recalling the groan which aid
come from the crowd when that