Motion Picture Story Magazine (Feb-Jul 1911)

104: THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE his feet Pete, the driver, was lifting an iron bar that lay near by. "Drop that, you d — n scoundrel," roared Tom as he made a grasp for the Italian. But he was not quick enough. The brutal rage, which had nerved the vindictive driver to follow his man to such an awful height to wreak vengeance, did not desert him now. With an oath he sprang toward Tom as a tiger upon its prey. There was a moment's struggle, then the blow descended, and Tom fell to the roof, stunned and unconscious. Like a fiend the driver glowered down at him ; then, as he turned, the dangling arm of the crane caught his attention, and with devilish glee he made for the engine. A low, muttered exclamation, a few quick moves, the pressure of a valve, — the engine is started — slowly, slowly the inert form of the unconscious workman rises in the clutch of the crane. Higher and higher it is lifted. The dark eyes of the Italian glitter with malevolence. He takes a hasty look about him, and quickly slinks away as silently as he had come. ' "Hello-o-o ! Tom ! Where are you ? Here's a letter for you." It is Jimmie's voice, striving bravely to be steady and cheerful. There comes no answer to his calling. He pauses an instant and listens. His quick ear catches the sound of the engine. It shouldn't be running at the noon hour ! "Wonder if there's anything wrong," he muttered. Anything wrong? The old fear of some harm coming to Tom once more assails him. He hastens his steps, then stops, horrified, at sight of his friend in the merciless clutch of the crane, suspended in mid air, far out, over the side of the building. Strong as he was, Jimmie felt faint and everything grew black around him. He was inert, powerless. Then, with a bound he cleared the distance between him and the engine. It seemed an eternity before he could discover the stop-cock, but at last the wheezing of the machine ceased. The crane stood still. Other workmen were coming now. There was excitement, confusion, a hurried search for ropes. To those who watched, it seemed that the material of Tom's blouse was gradually giving way under the strain. WTould he fall before help could reach him? In the terror of the moment Jimmie, quite unconsciously, had kept a firm hold of the letter. He shuddered, now, as he glanced at it. Like an inspiration the words of his dear mother, back in the old country, seemed emblazoned before him : "Never give way to the wrong, my son; die first." "Give me the rope, boys, — quick !" Instantly the rope is fastened about him and Jimmie starts out, crawling carefully along, on his perilous journey to reach Tom. Out, far out, over the busy street the two men hung, while the watchers held their breath in suspense. As Cecelia said afterwards, the guardian angels who watch over those who surfer for right, must have given unseen protection at that supreme moment. When it was all over, and both men, not much the worse for their terrifying experience, stood safely at the bottom of the building, Jimmie again remembered the letter. There was no bitterness in his heart, now, as he handed it to his friend, but he turned away as Tom read it. It did not take long. "Bead it, Jimmie." Tom's voice was not bitter, either, but it trembled slightly, and there was a note of sadness in it which Jim had never noticed before. "Bead it," urged Tom. "The happiness is for you — not for me." From the few lines Cecelia had written, Jimmie knew that it was himself, not Tom, to whom she had given her heart, and, that Tom, whom he had envied and to whom he had been tempted to be untrue, was surrendering her to him. He forgot that the incident of the reflection in the mirror had not been explained. He forgot everything. For once Jimmie had no words. At Cecelia's home that evening, however, he told her al] that had happened. He did not spare himself. When he mentioned how he had envied Tom's