Motion Picture Story Magazine (Feb-Jul 1911)

102 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE "Oh, Tom, dear," Cecelia softly exclaimed as the deep, brown eyes looked lovingly into hers. "You have always been so good to me; — I used to think — when I was a child — that some day we — would be married — but — I — I haven't thought about it lately. Tom, dear, — wait, please," as Tom poured forth his affection in tones which it must have hurt Cecelia's tender heart very much not to listen to, "I am sure I love you. You have been like my own brother but — don't ask me for an answer now, Tom. Let . me think it over, alone. Let me tell you — tomorrow. I — I can't think now. I just want to be — alone." And Tom, in the goodness of his heart, respected her wish. With a fineness of feeling often found where least expected, the stalwart workman leaned gently over, touched his lips to the soft coils of brown hair on the girl's bowed head, and quietly stepped out into the night. Alone, Cecelia had said; she wanted to be alone. And Jimmie, in his little boarding-house room, sat with his head in his hands, trying to forget his friend — trying to crush out the memory of his love. He, also, was alone. "Whoa, there! Back! Back, I say— " The truck loaded with iron and steel had come to a standstill. The tired horses were powerless to move it. Swish, slash, went the heavy whip again and again over their quivering flanks. Italian Pete was abusing them again. It was an old story. He had been remonstrated with repeatedly. Even Tom's threat of the day previous had not deterred him. He had heard threats before and they had not been carried out. Another oath, another cut of the whip and Pete found himself suddenly lying in the road with Tom towering above him, lashing him with quite as much vigor as he had been bestowing on the horses. It was all over in a moment. Tom never wasted time. Throwing the whip aside he strode back to bis work, leaving the driver vainly shaking his fists and muttering threats of vengeance. Jimmie had been acting foreman for the regular man who was temporarily off duty. All that morning he had been rushing about, now here, now there; glad to be busy, to forget his own thoughts, but encouraging the men by his kindly smile and sympathetic words, full of understanding of each difficulty, and always ready with advice or assistance whenever necessary. He had just gone down, now. Tom was still above, twenty-two stories above the sidewalk, superintending the placement of the last bars and rivets, as the great, hanging crane brought the material up. Suddenly, amid the maelstrom of noise, a sharp, quick whistle sounds. There is a great creaking and straining of ropes, chains and pulleys, and then a great silence. The noisy clang of hammers against steel girders, which had deafened the workmen all morning, has ceased. It is the noon hour and for once Tom and Jim do not eat together. Jimmie, still longing to be alone, even among many, sits dejectedly at the foot of the building. He has small appetite for the pie, cake and sandwiches which a devoted landlady has carefully packed for him. His thoughts are far away. He feels crushed and broken in spirit. He cannot shake off a feeling of sadness. He has an uncomfortable sense of approaching calamity. He wonders if he may not be going to fall that afternoon. The men are beginning to run about now, with small pails of beer. There is much laughter and conversation. "Hey, you, up there !" The voice is Pete's, the Italian driver. No one has noticed his approach and his careful scrutiny of the scattered groups of workmen. No one heeds his yells up into the building. Probably he wants to talk to someone up on the roof. It must be so, for he slowly makes his way in that direction. As he nears the top, he appears very small, indeed. Surely no harm could come from such an atom of humanity clear up there, apparently in the very heavens. But — No one below had noticed Pete's presence, but every man in sight saw