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« THE TUNNEI
C&)
THE GREATEST STORY OF ITS
KIND SINCE JULES VERNE
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The widow of Cesare hurled a jagged, heavy stone full in the
woman’s face.
fL
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 Baermaon, 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 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 hurst There
is a frightful explosion. Men ar.e Hung to death and Rives is badly wounded.
He staggers through the blinding smoke, realizing that about .'5.000 men
have probably perished. lie and other survivors get to station No 4.
Rives finds Baermann holding at hay a wild mob of frantic men who want
to climb on a work train, somebody shoots Baermann. and the train Rlldes 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 V\ II
Lloyd, "The Money King ” John Hives addrer.-es 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 t<> the Park Club to meet Wit
ter* teiner, 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 ami Rives Mrs.
Allan has her suspicions aroused as to the friendship between her husband
and Ethel Lloyd Lives and Mr* Allan let the wine of love g**t 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 working*
of the great bore An explosion and tire have occurred In the tunnel, and
when the workers bear 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.
(Worn the Ormnna of Bermhsfd It •Hermann— ]
(fnrra r*r»tnr. Copyright *d. 1*18, by *
|\«'her Vmrlag, B*rlm kn«liah trauaUUou and
roinpUat'cn by
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 swept
by. She was frightened, for she un
derstood that the rase which a short
time before had filled her bosom had
taken this form with these dull and
brutleh people. She felt no fear for
herself. They knew her as a bene
factress tir.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. She was at that moment
passing along a Jong, 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 Home of the
women and reason with them when
they came past.
Suddenly tpe roar rose into a shriek
of fury, and the rush swept on* with
new speed. Maud thought *couki
hear the name ‘ Allan'' as the key
note. and a cold dread gripped her
heart. Was it possible that the>
would try to hurt her?
The next instant they were upon
her. She crouched against the wall
but faced thi-m. The din almost mad<
her blind and dizzy, and ahe was
ringed a 1 ? w ith 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,
ler clothes half torn from her body.
Pprang out in *rcnt of her ana huned
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 th«
chest and knocked her down.
Then came another and another and
another.
* • * *
The Rescue.
I’HEL LLOYD met Allan in the
J porch of Ills 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 saute 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
I outside; for Tunnel City was umli r
martial law. The horse was gone
| and the stable was looked.
The
girl s
at in th
p sin
ide
d ver
undrt
and 1
>oked
out at
ross
tl
n» ocean,
where
Mauc
and R
Ives
ha
d sat
but
twenty
-four
hou rs
be l ot
She
v\ .(s
not of
the
weeping
typ
e
f woman,
but h
er Up
s were
seal
ed
and
her
heart
weigh
ed with
th.-
dei
id lo«
id of
the grief about her. Love, as Maud
knew it -had known in tin* 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 « nly 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-r—and, like him, in
silence.
Presently she heard his step m 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 bench Jie
stopped and sat down in the sand
staring out to sea. For nearly mi
hour be sat there. Occasionally lit-
turned his head 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
h* stared out to sea again. Some
where out there far beneath th > wa
ters. was his one friend. Rive 13 IJr
could st e 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 safio. 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 of pur
pose The tunnel had taken from him
everything dear in life.
Ills 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 ut his temples were almost
w hite, 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, somewhat, that very night.
There might be still Home 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 sprung 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
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, now, Harriman,” 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 beard ac
centuated his livid pallor. The eves
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 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 os 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 wan a lot of temporary timber
still stuck around there in places.
Robinson has reported that he got as
far as the 23ftfh 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 paaaed 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 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 hl.s elbow,
and took a sip. Every man in the
room avoided his neighbor's eyes.
“Allan ” Harrtman’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!”
be 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 wdth 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 ctune 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 ai the
floor.
“What could I do that I didn't do?"
he demanded between his set teelh.
"I don’t know—Pwasn't there” ~e-
tumed his chief, coldly. “It’s bec£U$e
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 wn? 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. Yon
can never command the respect of
these people again."
The older man rose unsteadily to
his feet und his muscles suddenly set.
He took a half step forward and one
of the younger men rose and laid hts
hand on hi* 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. Hardman'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 the door. He was
barely gone before Allan turned to
two of the young engineers who had
left their posts and come in with the
By HAL COFFMAN
The Mistakes of Jennie .
Being a Series of Chapters tn the Life of a Southern Girl tn the Big City
men when the panic spread through
the workings.
“You can go—you two,” he said.
“Any college can give. f»00 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 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 suld 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
beat 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 will guarantee that no
man leaves this room dissatisfied.
HNery 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 stalT?”
“No, you stay here and take com-
Lefevre, you come along.”
‘Where "began Saunders and
stopped.
Mac looked at him a moment,
fevre ” > ^ tunne, ‘ Come along, Le-
Twenty minutes later a train that
Allan had ordered assembled before
he went into the conference was flr-
lnR 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 heapltal. 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 * t ra ck—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 avked
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 bv 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
s-»poke 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
w’ord 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 minute#!
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 thej' had only a few’ minutes to
wait. The coaches of the train were
crowded and there were curses and
ominous mutterlngg when the men
saw Allan’s face in the murky light
as he briefly questioned the Indomit
able Robinson. Rut there was not
time lor any outbreak. Allan switched
his train oyer 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 ’ evoaled billow* 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 j
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 j
work on those that needed help.
Finally the engine groped its way
into the sub-station at the 220th mile. 1
where the faithful O’Malley was still
making good air out of had as calmly
os 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
hi* free hand.
Good News.
“Tes.” he said. “T’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 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.
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CHAPTER XXVII.
A FTKR Jennie met the polite young man in the
yachting suit, as she was coming from the
grocery store with her bundles, he walked
home with lver to the little cottage Tom had hired
for her and her mother.
They stopped on the front porch talking awhile
and tlie 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 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 tiling 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 would 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
mu2h. 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 tn 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 say a 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
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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spring. Kindly let me know if I
shall give any decided answer.
ANXIOUS.
You are sixteen and can well afford
to wait. Y’ou 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, and in love w’lth 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 w’lth her she will some day be
grateful to you for it. You must
protect her from her o\\.n impulsive
ness.
Up-to-Date
jokes
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.”
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 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 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, nestilng
still closer, “I am not averse.”
CASTOR IA
Tor Infants and Children.
The Kind You Have Always Bought
Hears the
Signature
ii\LHbLb I ION'i
; top It quickly: Have your grocer scr
you one dom. bottles of
i H I V A R
SINGER ALE
Drink with meals,
ind if not prompt-
y relieved, get
oar money, back
it our expense
A'holesocne. delt-
lous, refreshing.
Prepared with the
celebrated Shiver
JuineraJ Water and
.i* purest flavoring materials.
5HIVAR SPRING, Manufacturer'
SHELTON. 8. C.
E. L. ADAH* CO„ DtaMtoutes* Attsntt
Via New Orleans
TH
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afe;
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CA
ND
LIFO
BEST •
RNIA
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. o. BEAN, T. P A
D. L. GRIFFIN, C. P. A.
121 Peachtree Street, Atlanta, Ga.