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r of the railroads and the steamboats and the factories and rolling mills beyond. It was as if this elevator were his fate, looming before him and shutting out the forward view. In whatever thoughts he had had of the future, in whatever plans, and they were few, which he had revolved in his head, there had always been a place for Hilda. He did not see just what he was to do, just what he was to become, without her. He stood there for a long time, leaning against the door-jamb with his hands in his pockets, and the sharper gusts of rain whirled around the end of the little building and beat on him. And then--well, it was Charlie Bannon; and Max knew that he was glad it was no one else. The narrow windows in the belt gallery had no glass, and the rain came driving through them into the shadows, each drop catching the white shine of the electric lights outside. The floor was trampled with mud and littered with scraps of lumber, tool boxes, empty nail kegs, and shavings. The long, gloomy gallery was empty when Bannon and Hilda stepped into it, excepting a group of men at the farther end, installing the rollers for the belt conveyor--they could be seen indistinctly against a light in the river house. The wind came roaring around the building, and the gallery trembled and shook. Hilda caught her breath and stopped short. "It's all right," said Bannon. "She's bound to move some." "I know--" she laughed--"I wasn't expecting it--it startled me a little." "Watch where you step." He took her arm and guided her slowly between the heaps of rubbish. At one of the windows she paused, and stood full in the rain, looking out at the C. & S. C. tracks, with their twinkling red and green lights, all blurred and seeming far off in the storm. "Isn't this pretty wet?" he said, standing beside her. "I don't care." She shook the folds of the rubber coat, and glanced down at it. "I like it." They looked out for a long time. Two millwrights came through the gallery, and glanced at them, but they did not turn. She stepped forward and let the rain beat on her face--he stood behind, looking at her. A light showed far down the track, and they heard a faint whistle. "A train," he said; and she nodded. The headlight grew, and the car lights appeared behind it, and then the black outline of the engine. There was a rush and a roar, and it passed under them. "Doesn't it make you want to jump down?" she said softly, when the roar had
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