She gazes in a dazed way on the white prescription-booth beyond the square stove; on the bottles of blue copper-water on each corner. Higher, the partition rises into view. She meets the eyes of the officer. A patrol wagon clangs and clamors down State street. It will stop before the door. Officers enter from the patrol wagon. "Where is that suicide?" they ask in a low voice, seeing a bride. The officer in charge steps to the side of the bride. He speaks tenderly--the tenderness of a rough man with a kind heart. "Madam," he says, "you can go behind the partition and see the body. No one will come in for a few moments." The bride rises. She hurries toward the little room where Robert Chalmers suffered and died. "Oh, David!" she cries. "Oh, David! Oh, God!" "I guess we will not need the wagon," the officers say among themselves, and step out on the sidewalk. The little clock behind the partition strikes 6. A dozen factory whistles set up their dismal concert out in the blue mist. THE END. End of Project Gutenberg's David Lockwin--The People's Idol, by John McGovern