He cast his mind back over the years he had spent with the Welshes, remembering how he had seen Mamie grow from a child of eight, through all the stages of girlhood, to the radiant young womanhood she had attained; he had seen her sweetness of disposition tested scores of times; he knew how true and honest and loving she was, and he could not but wonder at his own blindness, at his tardy awakening to his love for her. Most wonderful of all it seemed that she should care for him, that she— The window rattled suddenly and sharply, the house seemed to quiver, as though struck by some giant hand, and almost instantly there came a deep, jarring roar. A moment later, Allan heard the distant ringing of the fire alarm, heard excited footsteps along the street, and groped blindly along the floor for the board to which his instrument was attached. He found it at last, seized it, pulled it up, and began calling the dispatchers’ office. Fully a minute passed before the answer came, and he knew that the dispatcher had not been at his key. “This is West,” he clicked. “Any trouble up there?” “Trouble!” flashed back the answer, in a staccato which told how excited the sender was. “I should say so! All the cars in the yards are afire and the freight-house is blown up!” Allan gently replaced the instrument on the floor and slid out of bed. He groped his way to the closet, got out his clothes and slipped into them as quietly as he could. Shirt and coat gave him some trouble, but he managed to get them on, gritting his teeth at the pain the movement cost him. Then, without collar or tie, which he knew were beyond him, even if he had cared to linger for such trifles, he took his shoes in his hand, opened his door softly, and started down the stairs, hoping that he might get away unseen. But before he was half way down, he heard light steps behind him and a low voice. “Allan!” it called. He turned as Mamie came flying down to him, visible only as a dim shape in the darkness. “You’re not going out!” she protested, her hands upon his shoulders. “I must,” he said, bending and kissing her. “The strikers have fired the yards and blown up the freight-house. I’ve got to go.” “But you’re not able!” “Oh, yes, I am,” he contradicted lightly, but he was grateful for the darkness which hid his face from her anxious eyes. “And there’ll probably be more trouble.” “All the more reason I should be there. You wouldn’t have me be a coward, Mamie!” It was the one appeal to touch her, and he knew it. “No,” she said, “I wouldn’t have you be a coward. Go if you must; but, oh, Allan dear, be careful of yourself for my sake!” “I will,” he promised and kissed her again, as she went with him down the stairs. “I’ve got to put on my shoes,” he added. “I thought maybe I could get away and be back and in bed again without anyone knowing.”