oor, 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,
swarms 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 t