Beautiful Joe [114]
and covered his face with
his hands.
"Speak to me, William!" said Mrs. Morris, in a startled tone. "You are not hurt,
are you?" and she put her candle on the table and came and sat down beside him.
He dropped his hands from his face, and tears were running down his cheeks. "Ten
lives lost," he said; "among them Mrs. Montague."
Mrs. Morris looked horrified, and gave a little cry, "William, it can't be so!"
It seemed as if Mr. Morris could not sit still. He got up and walked to and fro
on the floor. "It was an awful scene, Margaret. I never wish to look upon the
like again. Do you remember how I protested against the building of that
deathtrap. Look at the wide, open streets around it, and yet they persisted in
running it up to the sky. God will require an account of those deaths at the
hands of the men who put up that building. It is terrible this disregard of
human lives. To think of that delicate woman and her death agony." He threw
himself in a chair and buried his face in his hands.
"Where was she? How did it happen? Was her husband saved, and Charlie?" said
Mrs. Morris, in a broken voice.
"Yes; Charlie and Mr. Montague are safe. Charlie will recover from it.
Montague's life is done. You know his love for his wife. Oh, Margaret! when will
men cease to be fools? What does the Lord think of them when they say, 'Am I my
brother's keeper?' And the other poor creatures burned to death their lives are
as precious in his sight as Mrs. Montague's."
Mr. Morris looked so weak and ill that Mrs. Morris, like a sensible woman,
questioned him no further, but made a fire and got him some hot tea. Then she
made him lie down on the sofa, and she sat by him till day-break, when she
persuaded him to go to bed. I followed her about, and kept touching her dress
with my nose. It seemed so good to me to have this pleasant home after all the
misery I had seen that night. Once she stopped and took my head between her
hands, "Dear old Joe," she said, tearfully, "this a suffering world. It's well
there's a better one beyond it."
In the morning the boys went down town before breakfast and learned all about
the fire. It started in the top story of the hotel, in the room of some fast
young men, who were sitting up late playing cards. They had smuggled wine into
their room and had been drinking till they were stupid. One of them upset the
lamp, and when the flames began to spread so that they could not extinguish
them, instead of rousing some one near them, they rushed downstairs to get some
one there to come up and help them put out the fire. When they returned with
some of the hotel people, they found that the flames had spread from their room,
which was in an "L" at the back of the house, to the front part, where Mrs.
Montague's room was, and where the housemaids belonging to the hotel slept. By
this time Mr. Montague had gotten upstairs, but he found the passageway to his
wife's room so full of flames and smoke, that, though he tried again and again
to force his way through, he could not. He disappeared for a time, then he came
to Mr. Morris and got his boy, and took him to some rooms over his bank, and
shut himself up with him. For some days he would let no one in; then he came out
with the look of an old man on his face, and his hair as white as snow, and went
out to his beautiful house in the outskirts of the town.
Nearly all the horses belonging to the hotel were burned. A few were gotten out
by having blankets put over their heads, but the most of them were so terrified
that they would not stir.
The Morris boys said that they found the old Italian sitting on an empty box,
looking at the smoking ruins of the hotel. His head was hanging on his breast,
and his eyes were full of tears. His ponies were burned up, he said, and the
gander, and the monkeys, and the goat, and his wonderful performing dogs. He had
only his birds left, and he was a ruined man. He had toiled all his life to get
this troupe of trained animals together,
his hands.
"Speak to me, William!" said Mrs. Morris, in a startled tone. "You are not hurt,
are you?" and she put her candle on the table and came and sat down beside him.
He dropped his hands from his face, and tears were running down his cheeks. "Ten
lives lost," he said; "among them Mrs. Montague."
Mrs. Morris looked horrified, and gave a little cry, "William, it can't be so!"
It seemed as if Mr. Morris could not sit still. He got up and walked to and fro
on the floor. "It was an awful scene, Margaret. I never wish to look upon the
like again. Do you remember how I protested against the building of that
deathtrap. Look at the wide, open streets around it, and yet they persisted in
running it up to the sky. God will require an account of those deaths at the
hands of the men who put up that building. It is terrible this disregard of
human lives. To think of that delicate woman and her death agony." He threw
himself in a chair and buried his face in his hands.
"Where was she? How did it happen? Was her husband saved, and Charlie?" said
Mrs. Morris, in a broken voice.
"Yes; Charlie and Mr. Montague are safe. Charlie will recover from it.
Montague's life is done. You know his love for his wife. Oh, Margaret! when will
men cease to be fools? What does the Lord think of them when they say, 'Am I my
brother's keeper?' And the other poor creatures burned to death their lives are
as precious in his sight as Mrs. Montague's."
Mr. Morris looked so weak and ill that Mrs. Morris, like a sensible woman,
questioned him no further, but made a fire and got him some hot tea. Then she
made him lie down on the sofa, and she sat by him till day-break, when she
persuaded him to go to bed. I followed her about, and kept touching her dress
with my nose. It seemed so good to me to have this pleasant home after all the
misery I had seen that night. Once she stopped and took my head between her
hands, "Dear old Joe," she said, tearfully, "this a suffering world. It's well
there's a better one beyond it."
In the morning the boys went down town before breakfast and learned all about
the fire. It started in the top story of the hotel, in the room of some fast
young men, who were sitting up late playing cards. They had smuggled wine into
their room and had been drinking till they were stupid. One of them upset the
lamp, and when the flames began to spread so that they could not extinguish
them, instead of rousing some one near them, they rushed downstairs to get some
one there to come up and help them put out the fire. When they returned with
some of the hotel people, they found that the flames had spread from their room,
which was in an "L" at the back of the house, to the front part, where Mrs.
Montague's room was, and where the housemaids belonging to the hotel slept. By
this time Mr. Montague had gotten upstairs, but he found the passageway to his
wife's room so full of flames and smoke, that, though he tried again and again
to force his way through, he could not. He disappeared for a time, then he came
to Mr. Morris and got his boy, and took him to some rooms over his bank, and
shut himself up with him. For some days he would let no one in; then he came out
with the look of an old man on his face, and his hair as white as snow, and went
out to his beautiful house in the outskirts of the town.
Nearly all the horses belonging to the hotel were burned. A few were gotten out
by having blankets put over their heads, but the most of them were so terrified
that they would not stir.
The Morris boys said that they found the old Italian sitting on an empty box,
looking at the smoking ruins of the hotel. His head was hanging on his breast,
and his eyes were full of tears. His ponies were burned up, he said, and the
gander, and the monkeys, and the goat, and his wonderful performing dogs. He had
only his birds left, and he was a ruined man. He had toiled all his life to get
this troupe of trained animals together,