Grant County herald. [volume] (Lancaster, Wis.) 1850-1968, 1907-05-11

ing-nOthlngi And then, In the CnrOe
of his despair, he had an idea of hope.
He had carried morning paper with
him when he went to work that morn
ing, and he had placed it, carefully
rolled, in an outside coat pocket. Was
it there still? If so, he might be able
to reach it, and draw it forth. Then
he might drop it, to call the attention
of the passers-by on the sidewalk be-
low. Little by little, he pulled the pa
per free Still careful, lest the move
ment might hurry him to the eager
pavement below, Steve separated the
paper into two parts. Hope in his
heart, prayers on his lips, Steve let
go his grasp on the half paper. 1t
sank slowly toward the earth. And
now it touched, and rested calmly on
the curb-three blocks from the man
who watched
For Steve had watched, had watched
praying. From the moment he
launched his messenger, he held
strained eyes on the floating, Vacillat-
ing bit of paper. AS he saw it waited
farther and farther away, so his hope
thinned, and when it paused at last,
remote, futile hope ceased.
But pluck survives reason. He chose
to try yet once again. But this time
he would not drop the paper. Instead,
he would simply wave it back and
forth The regular movement of the
huge sheet might catch the attention
of some one ere night drew down. He
swung the cracking pages to and fro,
hoping ever to see the CLEAN of face
upturned to note his signal-hoping in
vain.
Martin, too, had passed day OF tor
ture. He had carried with him the
burden of guilt. 1t seemed to hiIn that
his only hope lay in flight, and yet he
could not flee. He dared not return
to his room, he dared not go to Mary.
| And always before him was a dread
! vision-that scene of man outlined
against the sky falling into an abyss
| of death, struck to his doom by his
hand. But the vision fascinated him
| by the very terror of it. A dreadful
! longing grew in him to see the place
again. AS the sun sank, he slOuched
! furtively around a corner and stood
| trembling, looking across the street
and up 20 stories to that point of roof
, where a few hours ago he had
thrust Steve over the edge. The soul
in him quaked to the shivering of his
body as he gazed.
| Martin started in superstitious ter
ror Something moved up there. Was
it Steve's ghost, fitting there where
he had gone to his death? The idea
appalled,.
Presently, the illusion passed, and
as he came to the curb and stood on
/ the sidewalk almost directly under
meath that swinging object he saw the
bulk of the man above it.
/ Steve, staring always for an up,
turned face, saw one for an instant
then it vanished in the crowd. The
darkness had come. He dropped the
paper from his hand, and prayed brol-
emily.
Martin had not understood-but
hope was born in him as it died in
Steve. Half a minute later, he was on
the top floor, running toward the
stairs that led to the roof. Ten sec
onds after, he was fiat on the roofs
edge, peering over. There, just to the
right of him, swung the body of a
man, man who lived, for a broken
/ humble of words issued from his lips.
Martin sprang to his feet, and ran
to the end Of the roof, where the flag
staff stood. There he whipped out his
knife, and cut the rope. He made a
running knot in it, and then sped back
to where the other man dangled.
Martin had seen at a glance how
Steve's left coat pocket had caught on
one of the ornamental points of the
iron top of the roof. So, now, he
lowered the rope even before he spoke,
until it hung just in front of Steve's
head and arms. Then:
Steve! Steve!" Martin called.
The man in the abyss believed that
the voice was hallucination, but he
answered.:
Help! For Gods sake, help!"
Put your head and arms through
the rope and III pull you up Martin
directed At last, the rope was in
place, and Martin began to draw it
taut. The loop lessened and closed
around the mans body. Martin braced
his feet against the tiny parapet at the
roofs edge, and hauled at the rope
with careful, steady strength. At last
Steve's arms reached the top of the
roof.
1t was done at last, and the one man
was ministering to the other, chatting
his numbed hands, and soothing him
with the tenderness of a oman.
"Oh, thank God. you "a not die!"
he cried again. You know / never
meant it, Steve"
But why did you go away?" the
other asked feebly.
Il thought you had gone" Martin
answered. why, I've been thinking
all day that l was your murderer,
Steve"
Il wanted to make you fight" Steve