ome one said "munitions." She
put her hand to her eyes and pressed tight. Not to _see_. That was why
she had to keep coming for this look at Howie. She had to see
_him_--that she might shut out _that_--the picture of Howie--_blown into
pieces_.

She _hated_ people. They were always doing something like this to her.
She hated all these people in the theater. It seemed they were all,
somehow, against her. And Howie had been so good to them! He was so good
to people like the people in this theater. It was because he was so good
and kind to them that he was--that he was not Howie now. He was always
thinking of people's comfort--the comfort of people who had to work
hard. From the time he went into his father's factory he had always been
thinking up ways of making people more comfortable in their work. To see
girls working in uncomfortable chairs, or standing hour after hour at
tables too low or too high for them--he couldn't pass those things by as
others passed them by. He had a certain inventive faculty, and his
kindness was always making use of that. His father used to tell him he
would break them all up in business if his mind went on working in that
direction. He would tell him if he was going to be an inventor he had
better think up some money-making inventions. Howie would laugh and
reply that he'd make it all up some day. And at last one of the things
he had thought out to make it better for people was really going to make
it better for Howie. It was a certain kind of shade for the eyes. It
had been a relief to the girls in their little factory, and it was being
tried out elsewhere. It was even being used a little in one of the big
munition plants. Howie was there seeing about it. And while he was
there--He went in there Howie. There wasn't even anything to carry out.

The picture had begun. She had to wait until almost half of it had
passed before her moment came. The story was a tawdry, meaningless thing
about the adventures of two men who had stolen a diamond cross--a
strange world into which to come to find Howie. Chance had caught him
into it--he was one of the people passing along a street which was being
taken for the picture. His moment was prolonged by his stopping to do
the kind of thing Howie would do, and now it was as if that one moment
was the only thing saved out of Howie's life. They who made the picture
had apparently seen that the moment was worth keeping--they left it as a
part of the stream of l