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The widow of Cesare hurled a jagged, heavy stone full in the woman’s face. WHAT HAS GONE BEFORE The story opens with Rives, who Is in charge of the technical work ings of the great tunnel from America to Germany, on one of the tunnel trains, with Eaermann, an engineer, in charge of Main Station No. 4. They are traveling at the rate of 118 miles an hour. Rives Is in love with Maude Allan, wife of Mackendriok Allan, whose mind first conceived the great tunnel scheme. After going about 250 miles under the Atlantic Ocean Rives gets out of the train. Suddenly the tunnel seems to burst There is a frightful explosion. Men are flung to death and Rives is badly wounded. He staggers through the blinding smoke, realizing that about 3,000 men have probably perished. He and other survivors get to Station No. 4. Rives finds Baermann holding at bay a wild mob of frantic men who want to climb on a work train, somebody shoots Baermann, and the train slides out. The scene is then changed to the roof of the Hotel Atlantic. The greatest financiers of the country are gathered there at a summons from C. H. Lloyd, "The Money King.” John Rives addresses them, and introduces Al lan. Mrs. Allan and Maude Lloyd, daughter of the financier, are also pres ent Allan tells the company of his project for a tunnel 3,100 miles long. The financiers agree to back him. Allan and Rives want him to take charge of the actual work. Rives accepts. Rives goes to the Park Club to meet Wit- tersteiner, a financier. At Columbus Circle news of the great project is being flashed on a screen. Thousands are watching it. Mrs. Allan becomes a lonely and neglected woman and is much thrown in the company of Rives. Sydney Wolf, the money power of two continents, plots against Allan and Rives. Mrs. Allan has her suspicions aroused as to the friendsship between her husband and Ethel Lloyd. Rives and Mrs. Allan let the wine of love get to their heads and, before they know it, they confess their love for each other. Tun nel City’s inhabitants learn something has gone wrong in the lower workings j of the great bore. An explosion and tire have occurred in the tunnel, and when the workers hear of it definitely they become a raging mob. surging about the entrance of the bore. Mrs. Allan is warned not to leave her home while the excitement is at its height. But she and her child go forth. Now Go On With the Story. Trom the German of Bernhard Kellermann— i rn-sn veraioo Copyrighted. 1813, by «• irher Vrrlag, Berlin English translation and Delation by (Copyrighted. 1918, by International New# Semce.). TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT. Coming toward them was a swirl ing wave of men and women that filled the stieet from house to house. It rolled toward them with frightful rapidity, and the din of It was terri fying. Maud drew Edith to her and looked for a doorway in which she might stand until the horde had swepi by. She was frightened, for she un derstood that the rage which a short time before had filled her bosom had taken this form with these dull and brutish people. She felt no fear for herself. They knew her as a bene factress and a friend of unwearying goodness; but she feared that they might terrify Edith, and knew they would be sorry the next day for any damage they did. But there was no friendly doorway at hand. She was at that moment passing along a long, high wall that cut off the wagon yard of a great de partment store. She drew back against it and held Edith close, think ing she would try to stop some of the women and reason with them when they came past. Suddenly the roar rose into a shriek of fury, and the rush swept on with new speed. Maud thought she could hear the name "Allan” as the key note, and a cold dread gripped her heart. Was it possible that they would try to hurt her? The next instant they were upon her. She crouched against the wall, but faced them. The din almost made her blind and dizzy, and she was ringed as with a kaleidoscopic film of horrible, distorted faces that grim aced and glowered and slavered and twisted with horrible laughter. She opened her lips and tried to speak Edith was half-hidden in the folds of her skirt. “Friends! Friends!” she cried, but the words were pushed back into her mouth by the terrific uproar. The next instant the widow of Sesare, her hair hanging in limp strings, her eyes burning with the light of insane rage, her clothes half torn from her body, sprang out in front of her and hurled a jagged heavy stone full in the wom an's face. Maud staggered back and would have fallen, but the wall held her up, at the same instant another stone, meant for her, struck the child in the chest and knocked her down. Then came another and another and another * * * * The Rescue. E THEL LLOYD met Allan in the porch of his home that night. He had been prepared by tele phone when he reached New York. Without a word she shook his hand and pressed it. He questioned her without words, and in the same way she answered; then she led him through the silent house to the room where his wife and child lay. She stood with him for a moment, look- ink down upon them, and then as si lently withdrew. For a long time there was no sound save the steady beat of slow footsteps, as a sentry paced the walk outside; for Tunnel City was under martial law. The horse was gone and the stable was locked. The girl sat in the shaded veranda and looked out across the ocean, where Maud and Rives had sat but twenty-four hours before. She w^s not of the weeping type of woman, but her lips were sealed and ncr heart weighed with the dead load of th< grief about her. Love, as Maud knew it—had known in the last few hours of her life—was unknown to her. If she loved Allan in that way she. was not conscious of it. She was only conscious of a profound ad miration for him and a strong at traction for his energy, his strength, his genius. She knew that his wife and child were dear to him, and she suffered with him—and, like him, in silence. Presently she heard his step in the hall. She rose, but did not go to meet him. He came out. without a glance to the right or left, crossed the veranda, down the steps and strode off toward the beach. He had not seen her nor looked for her. About a mile up the beach ne stopped and sat down in the sand, staring out to sea. For nearly an hour he sat ther*. Occasionally he turned his head and looked bark In the way he had come, as if the pic ture of the darkened room and the two pale faces was before his eyes. Then he stared out to sea again. Some where out there far beneath th-3 wa ters, was his one friend, Rives. lie could see him, too—his knees drawn up, his mouth open and twisted and his face blackened. What was left him? From afar came the answer—the subdued murmur of Tunnel City. He gritted his teeth and groaned and ground his heels in the sand. As Maud had done before, he now curst d it and all who wrought in its name It was a rage of despair, but it was succeeded by another—a rage < f pur pose The tunnel had taken from him everything dear in life. His wife, and child were destroyed. His one friend was gone. The best part of his life had been given to it. More than 5,000 other lives had been swallowed up in its hungry mouth— and still it was unconquered, less than half completed. It was still his master and not his servant. Nothing to Lose. Now he had nothing 10“ lose. The gray hairs at his temples were almost white, but he would live long enough to conquer. He would live for that only. He would put grief and re morse to one side. He would guard his life for that one purpose—that those who had died might not have died in vain. The tunnel should live as a monument to all of them. He rose and stretched his cramped legs with a shiver. The thought came to him with a suddenness that almost made him cry' out that he might atone, f-omewhat, that very night. There might be still some men alive in that hell. He might find a balm for his own grief in healing the griefs of others. He walked swiftly back to the house. Ethel Lloyd was still waiting on the veranda. In a few low words he told what he intended doing, and she soft ly applauded. She would look out for everything at the house and do all that she could. He sprang into his car and told the chauffeur to drive to the administration building. Ceremony had never been the habit of the administration building, but when Allan entered the consultation room, where the general conferences of the engineers W'ere held, every man in the room rose. Allan believed that he was calm, for he was in the numb ed condition that follows a sudden blow. He was certain that he looked calm, and for a moment he was sur prised when Harriman half-walked, half-reeled a step or two toward him, and exclaimed, in choked voice: “Allan! ” Allan silenced him with a gesture. “Now r , now. Harriman,” he said, quietly. "Take your seats, gentle men.” Mechanically they obeyed and sat staring at him. His face w f as rigid, as if frozen, his lips blue and white at the edges. A young man who sat next him noticed that the skin be neath the eyes was twitching nervous ly. A two days’ growth of beard ac centuated his livid pallor. The eyes shone, but it was with the cold glit ter of glass. The Story. They rested on Harriman, who con trolled himself with a visible effort and began giving the details of the disaster in short, broken phrases. Al lan listened without comment and without expression. “There is no doubt that Baermann was shot?” he asked when Harriman paused. “Yes.” “And Rives has not been h^ard from ?” “No. The last that we have been able to learn is that he was seen leaving Main Station on a construc tion train, going to the head of the boring.” Allan nodded. “Go on,” he said, grimly. “So far as actual damage goes we know the tunnel is all right almost up to Station 4, but we can’t be sure beyond the 220-mile mark because there was a lot of temporary timber still stuck around there in places. Robinson has reported that he got as far as the 230th mile, but the smoke was awful and he couldn’t tell about the fire. He has picked up 150 men that were as good as gone.” “That leaves how many dead?” Harriman moistened his white lips and passed the back of his hand across his forehead. "According to the control checks,” i he answered, in a husky, halting voice, “there must be about twenty-nine hundred.” There was a dead silence. Every man in the room nad known for hours that the official figures must inevita-, bly reach that number, but it was a terrible thing to hear them spoken. Allan reached a hand that trembled slightly for a cup of coffee that had been placed on a table at his elbow, and took a sip. Every man in the room avoided his neighbor’s eyes. “Allan ” Harriman’s voice broke again. His chief stored at him un moved. “Go on,” he said, coldly. The older man shuddered and pull ed himself together. “O’Malley is at Substation D2—220 miles ” he went on. “According to Robinson. O’Malley is certain ‘that an air pump is working farther down, although the telephone connection is broken.” For the first time a gleam of inter est came into ^Allan’s eyes and a faint touch of color to his cheeks. "Rives!” he thought, with a sudden wild hope. If there was one man in that hell who had the nerve and resourcefulness to keep an air pump working it would be Rives. Harriman went on with his report. He was no longer, apparently, over come with horror, but there was a new uneasiness in his manner which Allan noted and was quick to under stand. Whatever might be said in ex tenuation, Harriman knew, and knew that his chief would know, that he had not distinguished himself as a commander above ground in the ter rible crisis. When he came to the riot, Allan’s voice cut in coldly and sharply. The Coward. “Where were you, Harriman?” The other man threw out an un steady hand in a gesture of protest. His lips quivered. “I can only ask you to believe that I did everything that was humanly possible.” Allan leaned forward in his chair and made no effort to conceal his con- .tempt. “Anybody can do what’s ‘humanly possible,’ but this tunnel is not be<ng built on excuses, Harriman. This was a situation that demanded something more than the ‘humanly possible.’” The older man went very white. The others looked gravely a*, the floor. "What could I do that I didn't do?” he demanded between his set teeth. “I don’t know'—I wasn’t there ” re turned his chief, coldly. “It’s because I thought you would know that I left you in charge.” Harriman twice opened his lips and closed them dumbly. “It seems to me that you’ve fallen down mainly in what you did,” went on Allan, mercilessly. “For one thing, you ran away from the mob. It would have been a d d sight better if you’d stayed away. You stood for authority here, and you ought to have been killed rather than turn this place over to a mob.” Again Harriman opened his lips, but he did not speak. He knew that he had not run because he was afraid, but what was the use? Excuses couldn’t help. “On the whole,” Allan was saying. In the same brutally calm tone. “Baermann, so far as I can see, Is more useful dead than you are alive. Your authority here Is done. You can never command the respect of these people again." The older man rose unsteadily to his feet and his muscles suddenly set. He took a half step forward and one of the younger men rose and laid bis hand on his arm. The others still kept their eyes on the floor. Allan never took his gaze off his lieutenant’s fare, and the cold, contemptuous ex pression never changed. Harriman’s figure suddenly relaxed and he swayed slightly. “You mean ” he began in a voice that was barely audible, though the stillness of the tomb was on the room. "I mean,” said Allan, “that you are excused from duty I’ll see you again In a day or two. Good-night, Harri man.'’ Without a word, Harriman turned and reeled out of door He was barely gone before Allan turned to two of the young engineer* who had left their posts and come % with the men w'hen the panic spread through the workings. “You can go—you two,” he said. “Any college can give 500 engineers in a year, but it takes men to drive a tunnel under the ocean. You two had better stick to plain engineering here after.” His Speech. There was a little silence after that. Allan sat staring at the floor. Final- | ly he threw back his head. The dead, lifeless look was gone from his eyes and the bitterness from his voice. In a low’ voice he talked for ten minutes to these men who had done their be«t, and when he had finished any one of | them would have died for him “It’s the first nasty smash we’ve had.” he said in conclusion, “but It won’t be the last. I thought I had picked my men well, and making only three mistakes in a body this size Isn’t «o bad. I know you men are the best in the world, and It’s only the best that can handle this work. Now. if any of you have any complaint against the general management, if you think you’re not treated right, financially or otherwise, let me hear It now and I w'ill guarantee that no man leaves this room dissatisfied EVery man who works for this tun nel has got to face death or anything else that comes along. I can’t help that—It’s In the nature of the work But there ought to be honor enough to go around, and I know’ there’s money enough. Nobody anything to say? Then, as an evidence of good faith. I’ll order 10 per cent increase on the executive payroll and—I’ll ask you to shake hands and we’ll start In again. Saunders, you will take Har riman’s desk. Lefevre, you move up to Saunders’ place—and 'it’ll keep you moving to make us forget that Saun ders Isn’t there. Now, I’m off ” ‘Shall I go with you, Mac, as the new chief of staff?” No, you stay here and take com - maud. Lefevre, you come along.” "Where ” began Saunders and stopped. Mac looked at him a moment. Into the tunnel. Come along Le fevre.” Twenty minutes later a train that Allan bad ordered assembled before be went into the conference was fly ing down the grade to the entrance of the tubes. It was made of only two coaches and a locomotive. In the coaches were a few picked engineers, and all • the doctors that had been gathered that day that could be spared from the hospital, with nu merous bags and boxes of "first aid” supplies. Allan stood at the control ler driving the engine, and Lefevre stood beside him. The dispatchers assured him that track No. 2 was clear for 150 miles, and would hold Robinson’s train at that point for him. as they could guarantee on the one track—No. 3—from that point on To make doubly sure he had talked to Robinson on the telephone before mounting the cab. and had also asked for word of Rives. There was none, but he clung to that one slender hope —an air pump was working farther down. He threw on the full current, and the great engine leaped ahead almost Into the glare of its own searchlight, quivering and swaying, while a heavy monorail beneath boomed and purred under the heavv ; whirring wheels. Minute after min ute they hurtled through the inter- • minable tube, broken only by a flash- ing glimpse of station, a higher key ( in the roaring song, and then the long shining perspective and deep I steady hum once more. Allan never spoke or turned his head. He stood like a statue, with one hand on the air lever and the other on the con troller but neither hand moved. The Ride Over. At last the brake signal for the 150th mile station flashed out ahead of them. Lefevre glanced inquiringly at him and then the right hand moved slightly. The power was reduced The brakes began to squeak at inter vals. The mad ride was over. Lefevre glanced at his watch. An exclamation broke from his lips and he looked quickly at the little clock above the air gauge. Then without a word he held up his watch before Al lan’s eyes. Allan nodded grimlv and brought the train shrieking In the grip of the brake in the station. They had covered the 150 miles in 61 minutes! For the past 3ft miles the smoke had been perceptible, as It was grow ing thicker the farther they went Robinson’s train had not yet arrived, but they had only a few minutes to wait. The coaches of the train wore crowded and there were curses and ominous mutterings when the men saw Allan’s* face in the murky light as he briefly questioned the indomit able Robinson. Rut there was nm time lor any outbreak. Allan switched his train over onto the track th« outgoing one had left clear and drove on Into the gatherirg smoke. But now their progress was slow er. Tn another twenty miles their headlight was practically useless, for I it only revealed billows and eddying j clouds of smoke that rolled and turn- j bled in their path. They stopped at every sub-station, and in every one } they found the engineer in charge j still on his job, with as many men as he had been able to save. They had j caulked up all the cracks, and had their oxygen machines working. At each one a doctor or two dropped off with plenty of supplies and set to j work on those that needed help. Finally the engine groped its way into the sub-station at the 22ftth mile, where the faithful O’Malley was still making good air out of bad as calmly j as if he had not known that unless the outside ventilating plant began shouldering more of the work there was only death ahead for him and his men In a few hours. He was only a boy of 27, but he shook hands calmly with his chief and wiped the sweat out of his eyes with his free hand. Good News. "Yes,” he said. “I’m certain that an air pump is working farther down. Mr. Allan,*’ as coolly as if he were J discussing the character of the stone | at the end of the boring. Allan wanted to hear no reasons O’Malley was the kind of young man from whom reasons are unnecessary He pushed on into the smoke. Half an hour later they were beyond Rob inson’s farthest mark, and occasion ally they had to take a sortie into the choking vapor and push debris off the rail. Presently the train came to a full stop. Before it was a pile of bodies. Leaving the others In the protected coaches, Allan and Lefevre, guarded by smoke helmets and armed with smoke lights, pushed out ahead. Le fevre had respectfully refused to let him go alone. To Be Continued To-morrow. CHAPTER XXVII. A FTER Jennie met the polite young man in the yachting suit, as she wus coming from the grocery store with her bundles, he walked home with her to the little cottage Tom had hired for her and her mother. They stopped on the front porch talking awhile and the young man insisting that he really MUST see her again, and “couldn’t he call to-morrow?” Jennie told him no, but that she would meet him at a certain place the next day. When Jennie came in the house her mother ask ed her who she was talking to on the front porch. Jennie tried at first to evade her mother’s ques tions, but finally admitted it was a young man she met down near the store. This her mother said was very wrong, after Tom had been so good to them and then hare Jennie flirt with other fellows. Jennie said she wasn’t flirting, and probably would never see him again, but under her breath she muttered that she WOULD and besides, wasn’t he just as handsome as could be, and not only that, but he owned a yacht and wanted Jen nie to go out sailing with him. The next day, after making an excuse to her mother that she was going somewhere else, she went to meet the young man. The first thing he suggested was that they go to the restaurant for a bite to eat and then go out aboard his yacht. Jennie was not. hungry, so the young man said, “All right, let’s get a drink, anyway, for I need one badly this morning.” —-HAL COFFMAN. (To Be Continued.) Advice to the Lovelorn By BEATRICE FAIRFAX. WHAT IS THEIR REASON? DEAR MISS FAIRFAX: I am twenty-one and engaged to a young man the same age. At first my folks consented to him. now’ they object*. He offered to break the engagement, although he loves me dearly. I am so dis couraged and don’t know what to do. If we parted, it w’ould break my heart, as I have known him four years. HEARTBROKEN. Your parents, after sanctioning your friendship for four years, and approved of your engagement, owe you some reason for this sudden change of heart. Insist on having it, and treat their objection with respect. Don’t lose your temper, and don’t harbor the notion that they don’t love you. I am sure if you get together in a sane, sensible fashion, their objections may be overcome. RESPECT MOTHER'S WISHES. Dear Miss Fairfax: I am eighteen years old, and recently I met a man at a dance who I think cares for me very much. My mother objected to my going with him without giving me her reason. Kindly advise me what to do, as I do love him very much. B. L. K. I believe your mother makes a mistake in not telling you her ob jections, but this will not excuse you for not heeding them, nor make them less reasonable. Do just as she says. Trust her. No girl ever made a mistake by trusting her mother. LET IT BE “NO.” Dear Miss Fairfax: I am a young lady of sixteen and keeping company with a i young man of eighteen for one year. This young man has asked me to marry him, but I would like for him to change his position. He promised me he would in the spring. Kindly let me know if I shull give any decided answer. ANXIOUS?. You are sixteen and can well afford to wait. You do not state what the man’s position is, so my advice is based solely on your years. I want love to come to you, but, believe me, my dear, it will be all the sweeter if your Judgment Is more mature. CERTAINLY NOT. Dear Miss Fairfax: I am a young man nineteen years of age, arid In love with a girl three years my Junior. She wants me to elope with her, and as I am earning eleven dollars a week do you think I can support a wife? R. S. Jr. You are only a boy, too young to marry If you had the financial means, and marriage on eleven dollars a week Is suicidal. I am sure the girl Is Impulsive and thoughtless, and If you refuse to elope wdth her she will some day be grateful to you for it. You must protect her from her own impulsive ness. Up-to-Date Jokes A lady who had some friends (all un- • expectedly) at lunch time was rather afraid she would not have sufficient food, and told Bridget to bring in all she had and she would make an apology at the table. Upon taking the cover from one dish the lady found It’empty, and afterward asked Bridget why she took in an empty dish. “Shure. ma’am,” exclaimed Bridget, ‘‘an’ wasn’t it yourself as said ye’d make an apology at the table, an’ shouldn't you want a dish to put It on?” Little Arthur—I have noticed that whenever it rains the statue in the mar ket-place gets smaller, mother. It is a strange thing. His Mother—Really, Arthur. I am afraid you are becoming untruthful. What you say Is Impossible. Little Arthur (much hurt)—I beg your pardon, mother! When It rains the stat ue merely becomes a mere statuette (statue wet.) •'Dearest,” ecstatically murmured the enamored poet, "don’t you think we would make a good couplet?” "Ah!” sighed the dear girl, nestling still closer, "I am not averse.” A London Baby. Visitor—What have you there, El sie? Elsie (proudly)—That’s a bomb we made and we’re going to blow up the nursery. "Oh! oh! 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ADAMS CO., Distributor*, Atlanta One Way COLONIST Rates from Atlanta, in Ef fect September 25 to October 10. $42.20 TO CALIFORNIA Through Standard and Tourist Sleeping Cars. Ask for information and literature. O. P. BARTLETT, G. A. R 0. BEAN, T. P. A. D. L. GRIFFIN, C. P. A. 121 Peachtree Street, Atlanta, Ga. I 4 \ !