elephone has just
come from Mrs. Lawson saying that something has happened at the school
and will I at once get a carriage and bring your daughters home. It will
take half an hour. Shall I go?" I replied: "You had better, but get back
as quickly as possible." A minute later a thought occurred to me, and I
sent a boy to call Vinal back. He reported that my secretary had jumped
into "Ben's" cab ("Ben" was a cabman whose stand had been in front of my
office, 33 State Street, since my boyhood days). I returned to the fray.
Fifteen minutes later the appalling message that startled all Boston at
the time came over the ticker tape: "Terrible Explosion! Boston Gas
Company's pipes in the Subway have blown scores to death." Then there
floated in to me a rumor, vague, indefinite, that Vinal was a victim. I
jumped into a cab and in a few moments was at the undertaker's to whose
place the corpses were being removed. The undertaker stepped up to me
and said: "Poor Vinal! Don't look at him, for it is frightful. He was on
the very apex of the explosion, and he and 'Ben' were both instantly
killed and are frightfully burned. The only thing recognizable is this
envelope, which I found among the rags that were left of his coat." He
handed me over the large envelope in which I had seen Vinal that very
morning depositing the various documents, checks, and securities which
he required for his day's operations. It was burned around the edges,
but the contents were uninjured, and among the papers was a carefully
prepared memorandum showing to a dot where my secretary had left off in
his exchanges. He had evidently just finished making notes, for so
carefully arranged were the contents of the envelope that all that was
necessary to complete the business was to turn it over to Vinal's
assistant. No further explanation was required. That envelope
represented two millions of money and securities.

Poor Vinal! Another victim of that soulless corporation hag, Boston Gas,
to prolong whose life he had spent some of the best years of his own.
Vinal was very dear to me. He had filled my canteen, held my ammunition,
and carried my knapsack through many a hard-fought battle, willingly
allowing others to do the cheering in victory, but reserving to himself
the right to suggest and console when the clouds lowered and we were
left alone on the field of defeat or the dusty road of retreat. Poor
Vinal! He was worth a hundred copper deals or corporation hags.