The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1897-10-20
SELECTED STORY.
Box Ffty-T

Ii Ally OJner ndu udu bOiu ~ euOulu
have simply said that it was a lie, but
as l have never known Sam to lie about
anything l give it for what it is worth.
Bryne, the city editor, says that as far
as he knows it happened just as Sam
tells it, and they say Pemberton does,
too, although he's working on the New
York Sun now, 80 l can't swear to
that.
"When Kitty Andrews said she'd
marry me, L suppose it made me about
the happiest man in the newspaper
business" was the way Sam began his
story9" You fellows who have always
lived with your folks don't know what
it means to have been without anything
you might call a home and to have
lived round at boarding-houses and
cafes since you were a boy, as l have
done. 1t sounds mighty fine to say
you're your own master and account
able to no one, but you get deadly
tired of it by the time you're thirty, and
you wish to Heaven that there was
some one for you to be accountable to;
someone who cared whether or not you
came home at night and took ONE in
terest in you and what you did. Well,
you can imagine how l felt, then, when
1 found out that I, who have nj single
thing about me to attract a woman, had
won the heart of the dearest little girl
in the world.
at was two nights after she told me
that l was sitting in the office, waiting
with the philosophical content of a man
on call for something to turn up. l
had the last call, from 7 to 3, and or
dinarily 1 should have looked forward
with anything but pleasure to such a
long pull, for it was a dull evening,
and there was not a thing in sight
which would be likely to take me out,
but that night the time passed quickly
and pleasantly, for 1 could sit there
and think of Kitty and wish that l were
with her. She had been staying with
her sister at North Beach and was to
come up that evening. There was no
one to come with her, but it was only a
short distance from the boat to a car
which would take her home, so l did
not worry about her.
"It was early in the evening, and, Of
course, at that time it was very quiet in
the big office. OF all the reporters
there was only one other in beside my
self, and the four rows of desks shone
closed and empty in the bright glare of
the electric light. The only sounds
which broke the stiffness were the
muff1ed conversation ia the city editors
room at the rattle of Pemberton's type
writer as she worked on a story.
81 put my knees against the edge of
my desk and leaned back and dreamed
and dreamed of how happy 1 wal going
to be with Kitty in the little home l
had already begun to picture to my
self. I wondered and wondered if it
could all be true, and then l recalled
how she looked as she put her head on
my shoulder and whispered: Il do love
you, SAM" The longer 1 sat there and
thought the more contented and happy
I felt, until it seemed as though there
was nothing on earth left to wish for.
"That was at ten o'clock, but the
hour had not more than sounded when
there crept " me q most indescriba-
BILE feeling of terror and dread. There
was no reason for it, no possible expla-
nation of it, but it came on me sudden
ly, and it grew and grew until it seemed
as though 1 should spring out of my
chair and scream aloud. Now, you
know me. You know I've no more
nerves than a craven image, yet there
1 was with every nerve in my body
quivering with forebodings and fright
without any apparent cause. l could
not sit still, but got up from my chair
and began pacing up and down the
office, faster and faster. Then the
dread took a more definite form, and I
could feel that it was some danger to
Kitty that was moving me 30; that
somewhere and not very far away, she
needed me and needed me fearfully.
I could almost hear her voice calling
me for aid, and the longing to go to her,
if 1 had only known how or where,
shook me like a reed. What made it
worse was that ! knew she must be
somewhere in the city at that time, but
even knowing this I could not tell
where to 60 to her and could not bring
myself to leave my post on a mere i'm
pulse, no matter how strong it was.
81 paced up and down, up and down,
getting more nervous and excited, when
all of a sudden the fire alarm Taper
over the door of the city EDITORS room
began to strike, and from the first tap
of the bell it sounded like a summons
to me. We didn't ordinarily answer a
first alarm, and yet / could feel that l
should answer this n and that it was
more to me than a mere fire alarm;
that it was something of vivid personal
import, though what 1 could not tell. :
@ stood in the center of the floor,
counting the strokes of the Taper with
every nerve on the culver. One
wo-three-four-ive-rang out the
little bell. Then a pause; and again,
one-two. / did not wait for instruc.
tions, but reached my locker in a couple
of jumps. The city editor put his head
out of his door and, seeing that l was
going, simply nodded. Get a gait,
Morrow he said, but / did not need To
bel told that. Fifty-two was u scare
box. We never waited for a second
alarm from there, but jumped the mo
ment it was rung in. 1t was right in
the heart of the dry goods district
where the big buildings, full of iniam'
mable material, give the finest chance
for a fire. 1t sounded especially scary
at night, when there was no one rount
down in that part of the city, and a fr'
would have a fine chance to get a goot
start before it was discovered.
SGT bpau oil this we'll Int this an