The Witness - Grace Livingston Hill Lutz (top 5 books to read txt) 📗
- Author: Grace Livingston Hill Lutz
Book online «The Witness - Grace Livingston Hill Lutz (top 5 books to read txt) 📗». Author Grace Livingston Hill Lutz
To Teach Him How. Better Cut It Out!"
More Tortures Were Applied, But Still The Victim Was Silent. The Hose
Had Washed Him Clean Again, And His Face Shone White From The Drenching.
Some One Suggested It Was Getting Late And The Show Would Begin. Some
One Else Suggested They Must Dress Up Little Stevie For His First Play.
There Was A Mad Rush For Garments. Any Garments, No Matter Whose. A Pair
Of Sporty Trousers, Socks Of Brilliant Colors--Not Mates, An Old
Football Shoe On One Foot, A Dancing-Pump On The Other, A White Vest And
A Swallow-Tail Put On Backward, Collar And Tie Also Backward, A Large
Pair Of White-Cotton Gloves Commonly Used By Workmen For Rough
Work--Johnson, Who Earned His Way In College By Tending Furnaces,
Furnished These. Stephen Bore It All, Grim, Unflinching, Until They Set
Him Up Before His Mirror And Let Him See Himself, Completing The
Costume By A High Silk Hat Crammed Down Upon His Wet Curls. He Looked At
The Guy He Was And Suddenly He Turned Upon Them And Smiled, His Broad,
Merry Smile! _After All That_ He Could See The Joke And Smile! He Never
Opened His Lips Nor Spoke--Just Smiled.
"He's A Pretty Good Guy! He's Game, All Right!" Murmured Some One In
Courtland's Ear. And Then, Half Shamedly, They Caught Him High Upon
Their Shoulders And Bore Him Down The Stairs And Out The Door.
The Theater Was Some Distance Off. They Bore Down Upon A Trolley-Car And
Took A Wild Possession. They Sang Their Songs And Yelled Themselves
Hoarse. People Turned And Watched And Smiled, Setting This Down As One
More Prank Of Those University Fellows.
They Swarmed Into The Theater, With Stephen In Their Midst, And Took
Noisy Occupancy. Opera-Glasses Were Turned Their Way, And The Girls
Nudged One Another And Talked About The Man In The Middle With The Queer
Garments.
The Persecutions Had By No Means Ceased Because They Had Landed Their
Victim In A Public Place. They Made Him Ridiculous At Every Breath. They
Took Off His Hat, Arranged His Collar, And Smoothed His Hair As If He
Were A Baby. They Wiped His Nose With Many A Flourishing Handkerchief,
And Pointed Out Objects Of Interest About The Theater In Open Derision
Of His Supposed Ignorance, To The Growing Amusement Of Those Of The
Audience Who Were Their Neighbors. And When The Curtain Rose On The Most
Notoriously Flagrant Play The City Boasted, They Added To Its Flagrance
By Their Whispered Explanations And Remarks.
Stephen, In His Ridiculous Garb, Sat In Their Midst, A Prisoner, And
Watched The Play He Would Not Have Chosen To See; Watched It With A Face
Of Growing Indignation; A Face So Speaking In Its Righteous Wrath That
Those About Who Saw Him Turned To Look Again, And Somehow Felt Condemned
For Being There.
Chapter 1 Pg 6
Sometimes A Wave Of Anger Would Sweep Over The Young Man, And He Would
Turn To Look About Him With An Impulse To Suddenly Break Away And
Attempt To Defy Them All. But His Every Movement Was Anticipated, And He
Had The Whole Football Team About Him! There Was No Chance To Move. He
Must Stay It Through, Much As He Disliked It. He Must Stand It In Spite
Of The Tumult Of Rage In His Heart. He Was Not Smiling Now. His Face Had
That Set, Grim Look Of The Faithful Soldier Taken Prisoner And Tortured
To Give Information About His Army's Plans. Stephen's Eyes Shone True,
And His Lips Were Set Firmly Together.
"Just One Nice Little Cuss-Word And We'll Take You Home," Whispered A
Tormentor. "A Single Little Word Will Do, Just To Show You Are A Man."
Stephen's Face Was Gray With Determination. His Yellow Hair Shone Like A
Halo About His Head. They Had Taken Off His Hat And He Sat With His Arms
Folded Fiercely Across The Back Of "Andy" Roberts's Nifty Evening Coat.
"Just One Little Real Cuss To Show You Are A _Man_," Sneered The
Freshman.
But Suddenly A Smothered Cry Arose. A Breath Of Fear Stirred Through The
House. The Smell Of Smoke Swept In From A Sudden Open Door. The Actors
Paused, Grew White, And Swerved In Their Places; Then One By One Fled
Out Of The Scene. The Audience Arose And Turned To Panic, Even As A
Flame Swept Up And Licked The Very Curtain While It Fell.
All Was Confusion!
The Football Team, Trained To Meet Emergencies, Forgot Their Cruel Play
And Scattered, Over Seats And Railing, Everywhere, To Fire-Escapes And
Doorways, Taking Command Of Wild, Stampeding People, Showing Their
Training And Their Courage.
Stephen, Thus Suddenly Set Free, Glanced About Him, And Saw A Few Feet
Away An Open Door, Felt The Fresh Breeze Of Evening Upon His Hot
Forehead, And Knew The Upper Back Fire-Escape Was Close At Hand. By Some
Strange Whim Of A Panic-Maddened Crowd But Few Had Discovered This Exit,
High Above The Seats In The Balcony; For All Had Rushed Below And Were
Struggling In A Wild, Frantic Mass, Trampling One Another Underfoot In A
Mad Struggle To Reach The Doorways. The Flames Were Sweeping Over The
Platform Now, Licking Out Into The Very Pit Of The Theater, And People
Were Terrified. Stephen Saw In An Instant That The Upper Door, Being
Farthest Away From The Center Of The Fire, Was The Place Of Greatest
Safety. With One Frantic Leap He Gained The Aisle, Strode Up To The
Doorway, Glanced Out Into The Night To Take In The Situation; Cool,
Calm, Quiet, With The Still Stars Overhead, Down Below The Open Iron
Stairway Of The Fire-Escape, And A Darkened Street With People Like Tiny
Puppets Moving On Their Way. Then Turning Back, He Tore Off The
Grotesque Coat And Vest, The Confining Collar, And Threw Them From Him.
He Plunged Down The Steps Of The Aisle To The Railing Of The Gallery,
And, Leaning There In His Shirt-Sleeves And The Queer Striped Trousers,
He Put His Hands Like A Megaphone About His Lips And Shouted:
"Look Up! Look Up! There Is A Way To Escape Up Here! Look Up!"
Chapter 1 Pg 7
Some Poor Struggling Ones Heard Him And Looked Up. A Little Girl Was
Held Up By Her Father To The Strong Arms Reached Out From The Low Front
Of The Balcony. Stephen Caught Her And Swung Her Up Beside Him, Pointing
Her Up To The Door, And Shouting To Her To Go Quickly Down The
Fire-Escape, Even While He Reached Out His Other Hand To Catch A Woman,
Whom Willing Hands Below Were Lifting Up. Men Climbed Upon The Seats And
Vaulted Up When They Heard The Cry And Saw The Way Of Safety; And Some
Stayed And Worked Bravely Beside Stephen, Wrenching Up The Seats And
Piling Them For A Ladder To Help The Women Up. More Just Clambered Up
And Fled To The Fire-Escape, Out Into The Night And Safety.
But Stephen Had No Thought Of Flight. He Stayed Where He Was, With
Aching Back, Cracking Muscles, Sweat-Grimed Brow, And Worked, His Breath
Coming In Quick, Sharp Gasps As He Frantically Helped Man, Woman, Child,
One After Another, Like Sheep Huddling Over A Flood.
Courtland Was There.
He Had Lingered A Moment Behind The Rest In The Corner Of The Dormitory
Corridor, Glancing Into The Disfigured Room; Water, Egg-Shells, Ruin,
Disorder Everywhere! A Little Object On The Floor, A Picture In A Cheap
Oval Metal Frame, Caught His Eye. Something Told Him It Was The Picture
Of Stephen Marshall's Mother That He Had Seen Upon The Student's Desk A
Few Days Before, When He Had Sauntered In To Look The New Man Over.
Something Unexplained Made Him Step In Across The Water And Debris And
Pick It Up. It Was The Picture, Still Unscarred, But With A Great Streak
Of Rotten Egg Across The Plain, Placid Features. He Recalled The Tone In
Which The Son Had Pointed Out The Picture And Said, "That's My Mother!"
And Again He Followed An Impulse And Wiped Off The Smear, Setting The
Picture High On The Shelf, Where It Looked Down Upon The Depredation
Like Some Hallowed Saint Above A Carnage.
Then Courtland Sauntered On To His Room, Completed His Toilet, And
Followed To The Theater. He Had Not Wanted To Get Mixed Up Too Much In
The Affair. He Thought The Fellows Were Going A Little Too Far With A
Good Thing, Perhaps. He Wanted To See It Through, But Still He Would Not
Quite Mix With It. He Found A Seat Where He Could Watch What Was Going
On Without Being Actually A Part Of It. If Anything Should Come To The
Ears Of The Faculty He Wanted To Be On The Side Of Conservatism Always.
That Pat Mccluny Was Not Just His Sort, Though He Was Good Fun. But He
Always Put Things On A Lower Level Than College Fellows Should Go.
Besides, If Things Went Too Far A Word From Himself Would Check Them.
Courtland Was Rather Bored With The Play, And Was Almost On The Point Of
Going Back To Study When The Cry Arose And Panic Followed.
Courtland Was No Coward. He Tore Off His Handsome Overcoat And Rushed To
Meet The Emergency. On The Opposite Side Of The Gallery, High Up By
Another Fire-Escape He Rendered Efficient Assistance To Many.
The Fire Was Gaining In The Pit; And Still There Were People Down There
Chapter 1 Pg 8Swarms Of Them, Struggling, Crying, Lifting Piteous Hands For
Assistance. Still Stephen Marshall Reached From The Gallery And Pulled
Up, One After Another, Poor Creatures, And Still The Helpless Thronged
And Cried For Aid.
Dizzy, Blinded, His Eyes Filled With Smoke, His Muscles Trembling With
The Terrible Strain, He Stood At His Post. The Minutes Seemed
Interminable Hours, And Still He Worked, With Heart Pumping Painfully,
And Mind That Seemed To Have No Thought Save To Reach Down For Another
And Another, And Point Up To Safety.
Then, Into The Midst Of The Confusion There Arose An Instant Of Great
And Awful Silence. One Of Those Silences That Come Even Into Great Sound
And Claim Attention From The Most Absorbed.
Paul Courtland, High In His Chosen Station, Working Eagerly,
Successfully, Calmly, Looked Down To See The Cause Of This Sudden
Arresting Of The Universe; And There, Below, Was The Pit Full Of Flame,
With People Struggling And Disappearing Into Fiery Depths Below. Just
Above The Pit Stood Stephen, Lifting Aloft A Little Child With
Frightened Eyes And Long Streaming Curls. He Swune Assembling Of The Newly Elected
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