Five Mile Beach weekly journal., 1916-03-10
FILM CORPORATION.
CHAPTER |.

49,
the brightness of the inviting sun.
But a little way back from the glisten-
ing sand and converging through a
small park toward a suburban station
the streets of the seaside resort were
alive with men and women, hurrying
to the city for the grind of the lay.
Motor cars, too, glided noiselessly
along the b~oulevards, drew up in turn
before the station and discharged their
passengers From one of these a mid
dle-aged, military-looking man, Gen.
eral Holmes, an ex-army officer and a
railroad man, alighted on the platform.
A governess and pretty little girl,
Helen-General Holmes only child
had accompanied her father to the
train, and when he turned to the open
tonneau to say good-by, Helen sprang
impulsively half into his arms. His
train pulled in as he quite simply but
affectionately kissed his child and
boarded the nearest car.
Helen, promised a morning in the
park, left the motor car with her gov
erness the moment they crossed a
small scenic railroad running back of
the beach. She already had her eye
IN what she wanted to play with. A
contented dog, at peace with the world
and summing himself on a grassy slope,
had riyeted her alert eye; Helen adj
vanced joyously to get acquainted.
The dog seemed not averse to a pas
sive friendship, but the little maid,
sitting down, sought something more,
and by pulling hard and with conf
dence at his neck, soon had his I'M
promising head-after a fashion, at
least-in her diminutive lap.
The strain on his sensibilities ap-
peared more than her amiable and
carefree friend could stand. After
submitting for a time he rolled over,
jumped up and trotted Driskly away
for a new seclusion and a new peace.
Helen, undaunted, sprang to her feet
and followed. Her governess, engaged
with the chauffeur, saw nothing of
this part of the incident. But a mo-
ment later the few spectators in the
scenic railroad square, waiting to
board one of the miniature trains, saw
a protesting dog trotting rapidly
away from a curly-haired girl, who
briskly and relentlessly followed.
A newsboy, relaxing against a on
venient lamp post after the morning
rush, watched the pursuit for a mo-
ment with languid interest, then
turned to look at an approaching
train on the scenic road. He seemed
no more than half awake. His wits,
in truth, were wool-gathering. Every
morning found him absorbed greatly
in the mysteries of the miniature en-
CINE that pulled the scenic railroad
train.
A shout, then a chorus of cries
aroused him from his reverie. The
putting train was pulling swiftly to-
ward the open space. The unhappy
dog, casting ~reproachful glances over
his shoulder at his pitiless friend, was
%galloping uncertainty, but directly
down the narrow track toward the on
coming train. Helen, seeing or heed
ing nothing of the train and fixed only
on her chase, ran after at top speed.
A dozen people saw her danger as the
train rounded the curve just in front
of her-only one of them made a
move. Dropping his %unsolds, the day
dreaming newsboy, waking sharply,
ran headlong after the needless girl.
It was none too soon. The dog,
dismayed alike by the cries and a
second pursuit, sprang, almost in the
teeth of the engine pilot, right across
the track. Helen fast on his heels
was ready to jump after, but it would
have been pretty certainly a jump to
her death. The newsboy caught her
arm and whirled her from the engine
Just at it shot past with brakes
s%creeching on the drivers. Helen
sprawled headlong beside the track,
and the boy, unbalanced, rolled on the
gravel near her.
He was on his feet in a trice, stand
ing over Helen. She was frightened
and breathless, and without speaking
he knelt by her. Her yes began to
fill with big tears. She sat confused
ly up as her companion brushed the
granite dust from her pique skirt and
with a coarse handkerchief began
wiping the blood from a cut on n of
her pink knees. Her rescuer made lit
tie of the accident. He told her not
to cry. He even brushed the round
tears from her cheeks-Helen liked
him. What is your name, little boy?'
she faltered in a would-be command
ing tone.
I'm no little boy" returned her
rescuer grufly. A crowd had gathered
and he was already red in the face.
Helen gave the b~ystanders no heed.
What are you, them" she demanded
gravely.
I'm a big boy. My name is George
storm; I'm named after my father.
He was a railroad engineer. My father
got killed on a train. Who's your ia
tbar2"