The Cook County news-herald. [volume] (Grand Marais, Cook County, Minn.) 1909-current, 1917-07-25

some twenty miles away, and Helen
1llingworth In her car reached the sta
ton platform just in time to see it de-
part. She remembered that ten miles
across the country another railroad
ran and If she drove hard she could
possibly catch train which would
land her in Jersey City few minutes
before the train her lover caught. She
told the chauffeur, who scented a ro-
nance and drove as he had never
driven before.
The girl caught the express and rode
to the Hudson terminal in the city.
The newsboys on the street were al
ready crying the loss of the bridge.
She saw the story displayed in lurtd
red headlines as she sprang into the
taxi and babe the chauffeur hurry her
to the Uplift building downtown. The
bill she handed him in advance made
him recklessly break the speed limit.
Bertram Meade, ST., had not left the
Office during the whole long afternoon.
He sat alone, quietly waiting for the
end. AS to the drowning life unroNs
In rapid review, so pictures Of the past
took form and shape in his mind. He
recalled many failures. No success is
uninterrupted and unbroken. It is
through constant laundering that we
arrive. He had learned to achieve by
failing, as everybody else learns. But
failures and mistakes, which were par
donable in the beginning Of his career,
could not be condoned now; those
should have taught him. He realized
too late that his later achievement had
begot in him a kind of conviction Of
omniscience, belief in his own infalli-
Dtl1ty, bad for man. His pride had
gone before, hard upon approached the
fall. He had been so sure of himself
that even when the possibility that he
might be mistaken had been pointed
out and even argued, he had laughed it
to scorn. His sons arguments he had
held lightly on account Of his youth
and comparative inexperience-to his
sorrow he realized it, too late.
Again came that strange feeling of
pride, the only thing which could in
any way alleviate his misery or tighten
his despair. It was his own son who
had pointed out the possible defect.
Youth more often than not disregards
the counsel of age. In this case age
had made light of the warnings of
youth. It was strange reversal, he
thought, grimfy recognizing touch of
sardonic and terrible humor in the sit
uation.
"Whom the gods destroy they first
make mad" Well, he had been mad
enough. If he had only listened to the
boy. And row there was nothing he
could do but wait. Yes, as the long
hours passed. and the sun declined, and
the evening approached, there sudden
ly flashed upon him that there was still
something he could do. He had ex-
perienced some strange physical SEN
sations during that afternoon, unease
in his breast, some sharp pains about
his heart. he forgot them for the mo-
ment in the idea that had come to him.
When the bridge fell he would avow
the whole responsibility, take all the
blame. Fortunately for his plans, his
son had reduced to writing his views
on the compression members, which
had almost taken the form of protest,
and this letter had been handed to
his father. His first mind had been to
tear it up after he had read it and
had overborne the objections contained
therein, but on second thought he had
carefully filed it away with the origi-
nal drawings. 1t was, Of course, in the
younger Meade's own handwriting.
he went to his private safe, opened
the drawings and found the letter at
tached to the sheet of drawings. He
put back the other drawings and
closed the safe without locking it.
Then he went back to the desk and
considered the document. He had been
blind, mad. He laid the paper down
on his desk and put his hand to his
heart.
OF course he would submit those pa
pers to the public at once. Was there
anything else he could do? Yes. He
sat down at the desk and drew sheet
OF paper before him and began to
write. Slowly, tremblingly, he perse-
vered, carefully weighing his words be-
fore he traced them on paper. He had
not written very long before the door
Of the outer Office opened and he heard
the sound IF soft footsteps entering
the room. He recognized the new
conner. It was old Shurtliff, man
who had been his private secretary
and confidential clerk Tor many years.
He stopped writing and called to him.
Shurtliff was an old bachelor, gray,
thin, tall, reticent. He had but one
passion-Meade, ST.; but enc glory:
the reputation Of the great engineer.
Yes and az there ia M oroaf nocc;or