him. The faces of those
nearest were grave and unmoved, as if carved from the mother rock of
the country in which they delved; but he saw a light in their frowning
eyes that told how deeply their sympathies were stirred.

"I didn't get up here to talk to you so much about them, however," the
doctor went on, quietly, "as I did to remind you that out of
thirty-three of these men there were twenty-six who left widows, or
widows and children behind them. The boys over there did all they
could. There were a hundred and fifty men who tried to save them. They
are now working merely to get their bodies. We couldn't be there to
help in that; so we do what we can here. And that doing shall consist
in helping out those women and children. There's a box down here in
front of me. I wish you'd put what you can on it."

Bill, staring over the heads of those around him, saw a movement among
those nearest the orator's stand, and into the ring of light stepped
The Lily. Apparently she was speaking to the doctor, who leaned down
to listen. He straightened up and called for silence.

"Mrs. Meredith," he said, "says that any man here who has no money
with him can sign what he wants to give on a piece of paper, and that
she will accept it as she would a pay-check and forward the cash. Then
on pay-day the man can come and redeem his paper pledge."

There was a low murmur of approval swept round over the crowd which
began to move forward with slow regularity. The doctor dropped down
from his rostrum as if his task were done. The torches lowered as
their bearers followed him and planted them beside the box on which
coins, big round silver dollars and yellow gold-pieces, were falling,
with here and there a scrap of paper. No one stood guard over that
collection. The crowd was thinning out. Dick turned toward his friend
and looked up at him to meet eyes as troubled as his own. Each
understood the other.

"I wish I had some money of my own," the younger man exclaimed; "but I
haven't a dollar that actually belongs to me. I am going to borrow a
little from Sloan."

"I can't do that much," was the sorrowful reply. "And there ain't
nothin' I'd rather do in the world than walk up there and drop a
couple of hundred on that pile. I'm--I'm--"

His manner indicated that he was about to relapse into stronger terms.
He suddenly whirled. A hand had been laid on his sleeve and a low,
steady voice said, "Excuse me, I heard you talking and I understand.