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THE TUNNEL
o?o THE GREATEST STORY OF ITS
W KIND SINCE JULES VERNE
The widow of Cesare hurled a jagged, heavy stone full in the
woman’s face.
WHAT HAS GONE BEFORE
The story op«*ns with Rives, who Is In charge of the technical work-
1 insrs of the great tunnel frotn America to Germany, on one of the tunnel
trains, with I aermann, 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
1 Maude Allan, wife of Mackendrick 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,
lit staggers through the blinding smoke, realizing that about 2.000 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. II.
lJoyd, “The Money King " John Rives addresses them, arid introduces Al
lan. Mrs Allan and Mamie Lloyd, daughter of the financier, are ulso 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 tuke charge
of the actual work. Rives accepts. Rives goes to the Bark Club to meet Wit-
tersteiner, a financier. At Columbus Circle nhws 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 monos power of two contlntnts, plots against Allan and RiveB. Mrs
Allan has her suspicions aroused as to the friendship between her husband
and I'.thel 1-Joyd. Rives and Mrs Allan let the wine of love g*M to their
beads and, before they know It, they confess their love for each other. Tun
nel City's inhabitants learn something has gone wrong it; the lower workings
of the great bore An explosion and fire 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.
iTr*m the derm** of Retlennann—
firm n n or'inii ('opyrighl «d. IBIS. by
Tocher Vrrlag. Berlin. English translation and
(Copyrighted 1B18. by International Newa Bern*'*.)
TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT.
V’oming toward them was a swirl
ing wave of mmi 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 swept
by. She was frightened, for she un
derstood that the rage which a short
time before bad filled her bosun had
taken this form with these dull and
brutish people. She felt no fear for
herself. They knew her as a bene
factress ar.d 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. Site 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 dm almost made
her blind and dizzy, and she was
ringed a> 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 ciothes 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.
I -M'HKl. LLOYI) met Allan in the
J, porch of his home that night.
He had been prepared by tele
phone when he reached New York.
Without a «*vord 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
£tood with him for a moment, look-
ink down upon them, and then as si
lently withdrew.
For a long time there wus no
sound save the steady beat of slow
footsteps, as a sentry paced the walk
outside; for TunneLCity was unilt r
martial law. The horse was gone
and the stable was loeked.
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 whs
not of the weeping type of woman,
but her lips were sealed and tier
heart weighed with the dead load ut
the grief about her. Love, as Maud
knew it—had known in the last few
hours of her life—was unknown lo
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,
ills genius. She knew that his wife
and child were dear to him, and she
suite!ed 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 thor*. Occasionally he
turned his ht-afl and looked back 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 ih? wa
ters, was hlfl "ii*' friend. RiVbS, Ii
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 cursed
it and all who wrought in its name
It was a rage of despair, but it was
succeeded by another—a rage cf pur
pose The tunnel had taken from him
everything dear in life.
Hl.s 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 to lose. The
gray hairs at ills 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—(hat
those W'ho 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 n suddenness that almost
made him cry out that he might
atone, somewhat, that very night.
There might be still some men alive
in that hell. He might And 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 sue 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 were 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
cairn, 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, now, Harriinan,” he said,
quietly. “Take your seats, gentle
men.”
Mechanically they obeyed and sat
staring at him. His face was 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 heard ac
centuated his livid pallor. The eyes
shone, but it was with the cold glit
ter of glass.
The Story.
They rested on Harrlman, 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 heard
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 avXual 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.
Robinion 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
nnd passed the back of his hand
across his forehead.
"According to the control checks,”
he answered, in a husky, halting voice,
“there must be about twenty-nine
hundred.”
There was a dead silence. Every
man in the room had known for hours
that the official figures muR 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 ” Harrlman’s voice broke
again. His chief stared 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 Us 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 hone.
If there was one man in that hell wno
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 w r as a
new uneasiness *ln 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 w'ere you, Harriman?”
The other man threw out an un
steady hand in a gesture of protest.
His lips quivered.
“I (an 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 w’ent very white.
The others looked gravely at 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 twdee opened his lips and
closed fhem 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
j 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 his
hand on his arm. The others still
kept their eyes on the floor. Allan
never took his gaze off his lieutenant’s
face, 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 wor^. Harriman turned
nnd reeled out of th** door. He was
barely gone before Allan turned to
two of the young engineer* who had
left their posts and coin* 4R with the
men when 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
und the bitterness from his voice. In
a low voice he talked for ten minutes
to these men who had done their best,
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 so bad. I know you men are the
best in the world, and it’s only the
best that can handle this w'ork. Now.
if any of you have any complaint
against the genera] management, if
you think you’re not treated right,
financially or otherwise, let me hear
it now and I will guarantee that no
man leaves this room dissatisfied.
Every man w'ho 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 w'e’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?”
"^0, y°u stay here and take com-
lefevre, you come along.”
“Where ” began Saunders and
stopped.
Mac looked at him a moment.
“Into the tunnel. Come along Le
fevre.”
Twenty m inut e9 i a tef a train that
Allan had ordered assembled before
he went Into the conference was fiv-
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 beer,
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
on £ tra °k—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 heavy
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
steady hum once more. Allan never
npoke 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 grimly 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 30 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 were
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. But there was not
time lor any outbreak. Allan switched
his train over onto the track the
outgoing one had left clear and drove
on Into the gatherirg smoke.
But now' their progress was slow
er. In another twenty miles their
headlight was practically useless, for
it only revealed billows and eddying
clouds of smoke that rolled and tum
bled in their path. They stopped at
every sub-station, and in every one
they found the engineer in charge
still on his job, with as many men as
he had been able to save. They had
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
work on those that needed help.
Finally the engine groped its way
into the sub-station at the 220th mile,
where the faithful O’Malley was still
making good air out of bad as calmly
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 hoy of 27, hut he
shook hands calmly with his chief and
wiped the sw’eat 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
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 w’ere 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.
[ML
The Mistakes of Jennie By hal coffman
Being a Series of Chapters in the Life of a Southern Girl in the Big City
CHAPTER XXVII.
FTER JenDle met the polite young man In the
yachting suit, as she was 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 mhn she
met down near the store.
This her mother said was very wrong, after Tom
had been so good to them and then have 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 COFFMAX.
(To Be Continued.)
Advice to the Lovelorn
By BEATRICE FAIRFAX.
WHAT IS THEIR REASON?
DEAR MISS FAIRFAX:
I am twenty-one and engraved
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 w'hat to
do. If w’e parted, it would break
mv 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 daqce
w’ho I think cares for me very
much. My mother objected to my
going with him without giving
me her reason.
Kindly advise me w’hat 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
spring. Kindly let me know if I
shall give any decided answer.
ANXIOUS.
You are sixteen and can well afford
to wait. You do not state what the
man’s position is, bo 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. and 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 with her she will some day be
grateful to you for it. You must
protect her from her own impulsive
ness.
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! What for?*’
“Perhaps you don’t know that the
new baby is a boy.”
Up-to-Date
Jokes
, A lady who had some friends (all un-
I expectedly) at lunch time was rather
afraid sh$ would not have sufficient
food, and told Bridget to bring hi all
she had an<j 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 notloed 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, ”1 am not averse.”
CASTOR IA
For Infants and Children.
The Kind You Have Always Bought
Bears the
Signature of
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:
1 am a young lady of sixteen
and keeping company with a
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
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IRNIA
LOW
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.
0. P. BARTLETT, G. A. R. 0. BEAN, T. P. A.
D. L. GRIFFIN, C. P. A.
121 Peachtree Street, Atlanta, Ga.