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FEBRUARY, 1914
Vol VII
No. 1
Thru the Storm
(Essanay) By KARL SCHILLER
This story was written from the Scenario of F. F. MACE
It seems as tho Time must have been created after Man; as tho Life must be the dial, not a blank, white circle arbitrarily marked off into mathematical spaces. Certainly, that one night was longer than any year of their lives ; so long that it left a faint, grayish shadow on Susie 's girl hair and chiseled lines in Andy 's face. They say drowning people live whole lifetimes in a moment. In those few hours of storm-wrestle and wild rain the wife lived over every kiss, every embrace, every tender word that he had given her in their Five Beautiful Years, with the fierce, merciless vividness of dead, never-tobe-repeated things. And he — well, he was a man, and it was a man's duty that called him thru the stumbling delirium of the storm. But he, too, had once or twice a lightning flash of visioning — of his wife's face as she had waved him good-by that afternoon from the station platform, a gallant, Madonna figure, holding their baby sweetly to her breast. Yet the day had prophesied no such night.
' 'Oh, Andy!" Susie italicized. She glanced up from her absorbed handi
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craft as the tall shadow blocked the door-light. " Listen, Andy, I believe I've got the hang of it."
In the obedient silence a few halting clicks from the telegraph key stammered a message. Susie's cheeks fired triumphantly, and the baby gave a loud, fatuous crow, looking at its father for applause.
"Fine, old lady!" cried Andy, heartily. He flung aside his lineman 's outfit and strode across the small room, carrying her reward on his lips.
"Did you understand what I said?" she persisted.
1 ' 'Deed I did. ' ' His eyes twinkled. "But is that all you've learnt, Sue? Those three little words are mighty sweet, but I'll not allow you to telegraph them to any one but me."
"Silly!" Sue sprang to her feet in sudden housewifely haste. "I believe I've forgotten dinner, Andy. Take Honey-Gal out of my way, and I '11 hurry things onto the table. Just the same, when we get telegraph service at Burton's Bend, you'll be glad you've got such an intelligent wife, sir."
"When," sniffed Andy, pessimistically; "yes, when."
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