The Argosy, November 1908 — page 49: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

MONEY TO BURN, Exhaustion compelled him to abandon the struggle. He lay there gasping, his burning cheek against the wet iron. Even at such a moment he derived a feeling of relief from the coolness of the metal. ‘The physical weakness cleared his brain and stemmed his terror. He must face the situation calmly. It was impos- sible for him to free himself. He must shout and stop the train. But would they hear him? The roar of the flood and the blast of the tempest would surely drown his feeble eries. Then he dragged off his coat and plucked at his drenched shirt to wave it as a flag of warning. As his fingers snapped the collar- button he suddenly became consciows that it was night and dark, very dark. The lamp at the entrance of the bridge sent too wan a ray to show the waving of a flag. What was he to do? As he clasped his dripping forehead and looked out into the darkness, he saw, far off, a glimmer- ing light, low down like a newly risen star. Dumbly he stared at it, the only sign of life in all the waste of blackness. Then, with a pang, he realized what it was—the headlight of the train. Desperately he fought for self-control. There was the great curve—perhaps he had still ten minutes. Ten minutes to think for his life, for all the joyous future he had promised himself. Suddenly an idea came to him. He would light a flame of some sort. Matches? Yes, here they were, safe and dry in the metal box. Paper? Paper? With tense haste he plunged his hands into pocket after pocket. Nothing—noth- ing | “Ah, an envelope—drenched and sod- den with the rain. At last he drew out his wallet. Now he could feel dry paper— the thick leather had done its duty well. He fumbled among the crinkly bills. There was no other paper. Could he spare a few to save himself? 615 The light was nearer now. Reluctantly he struck a match, and, carefully shield- ing the tiny flame from the wind, watched it eat into one of the slips of paper for which he had sold his honor, with which he must now buy his own life. The flame flickered weakly as the hiss- ing rain-drops struck it, and the light of the train came on. Another bill he sacrificed, and another, and another—slowly, as though they were the drops of his own heart’s blood. Then, with teeth set to the resolve, he burned two and three, then five or six at a time. Still the light of the train came on. It was very near now, and the man was half-crazed with fear as he flung the bills upon the blaze, heedless of the smart and sear of his blackening fingers. Still the light of the train came on. In the panic-agony for his life he had forgotten what the rolls of paper meant as he held them to the flame and tossed them wildly into the air. One big roll— the last—there it is alight now. He waves it aloft like a torch. Will they see it? No, no. Yes. The train stops at last—right by the entrance to the bridge. A voice that did not seem to be his own shouted feebly. They came and forced open the death- trap with iron bars. “T got caught,” caught!” ‘““ Hell!” said the big Scotch engineer. ‘“‘T’d never ha’ thought to see a man’s life saved by a hot-box. Why, we’d never ha’ stopped—”’ ‘‘ What do you mean?” cried Gaspado. ‘*Didn’t you see the light I made? It burnt my fingers.” he cried—"I got ‘“Lord—no! Little we see in a storm like this. You are a lucky man this night. We stopped for a hot-box, that’s all.” And that is how Ulysse Gaspado, ex- secretary to the minister of finance, came penniless to San Jerome. A DITTY. My true-love hath my heart and I have his, By just exchange one for another given: I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss, There never was a better bargain driven. Sit Hele com