Photoplay (Jul - Dec 1921)

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section 117 Horizon (Continued) But the old man did not answer. He sat on the side of the bed, eyes closed, bodyrigid. The girl rose and crossed to the window where she stood gazing out into the storm. The trees bent blackly before the blast, the surf roared furiously as it beat upon the shore. No ray of light spoke from the tower to relieve the horror of the night. Five minutes passed; ten, fifteen. Then suddenly the girl dropped back with a little cry of pleasure — "The light! He has fixed it! It's burning!" The old man opened his eyes, but did not move. Doris rushed in to him, almost hysterical with relief. "He's fixed it, Daddy. My boy has fixed it — alone — out in the storm." "He's a fine young man, daughter," answered old Peter Merriam simply. They sat hand in hand by the side of the bed, awaiting the return of Bill Walters. But the young man did not come. For ten, fifteen, twenty minutes they waited. Doris was trembling. And finally she buried her face in her father's coat, and for the first time in her life he heard her sobs — "Oh! Daddy — something has happened ..." "Nothing could happen, dear. Nothing ... " But he rose from the bed and dressed himself. "I'll go and find him, dear." "I'm going with you." He hesitated for an instant. The atmosphere of the place was pregnant with tragedy. But he nodded and together they staggered through the door into the storm and thence to the tiny opening which let into the tower. Drenched, trembling, they found the stairway, and slowly they mounted. And on the steel platform of the light tower they found his body. He lay on his back, one hand badly charred ... while the light blinked its message of safety far out to sea through the storm. Doris stared, tearless. She did not ask questions. It was her introduction to Death, but she recognized it instinctively. And so, dry-eyed, they bore his body back to the little home and laid it upon the bed. It was then that the girl gave way to the one racking grief of her life, and the tears of Peter Merriam mingled with hers . . . The next morning they buried him. And, while Doris knelt by the freshly-made grave, Peter Merriam preached the funeral sermon . . . " He died that lives might be saved . . ." the big voice rolled sonorously over the grave. "He braved the fury of the night that a beacon of warning might flash. His death was the noblest of them all — for he died in the service of others ..." And then Peter Merriam, too, broke down and swept his daughter hungrily into his arms: "Oh! Girl — Girl!" he sobbed, "I'm so sorry — so very, very sorry." And she looked bravely into his eyes: pride in her dead mitigating her grief. " I'm broken, Daddy — but I'm proud. He died that the light might burn ... I know that he was happy ..." And so there came to Doris Merriam the one sorrow of her life; yet it was a magnificent sorrow, a grief tinged with pride of accomplishment — the superb grief which comes to women whose men are killed in battle. In a half day it aged her many years ... it rounded her to perfect womanhood . . . and it left her strangely at peace. And that afternoon, whilst she sat by the side of the grave of the man who was to have Never say "Aspirin" without saying "Bayer." WARNING! Unless you see name "Bayer" on tablets, you are not getting genuine Aspirin prescribed by physicians over 21 years and proved safe by millions for Colds Headache Rheumatism Toothache Neuralgia Neuritis Earache Lumbago Pain, Pain Accept only "Bayer" package which contains proper directions. Handy tin boxes of 12 tablets — Bottles of 24 and 100— All druggists. Aspirin is the trade mark of Bayer Manufacture of Monoaeeticaeidester of Salicylicaeid. 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