Long since, the factory whistle has sounded the signal for release from
the day's toil. The workers in the factory, a small army of men and
women, boys and girls, poured forth from the doorways of the huge
buildings, swarmed up the street, laughing and chattering, and dispersed
to their several homes. The buzz and jarring of the machinery have
ceased and silence fills the place. Even the offices are deserted, with
the exception of one from which issues the steady click, click, of a
typewriter.
Jane Horton, private secretary and confidential clerk to the millionaire
president of the company, is a very busy as well as a very important
individual. The sound of that whistle means release for the workers in
the rooms above, the toilers at the machines where she herself labored
so many years ago; it means release for stenographers, bookkeepers,
clerks, in the general office without; but for her, there yet remain
many things to be attended to before she can take advantage of the half
holiday and seek the seclusion of her small suburban home. Important
letters must be written, private letters which cannot be entrusted to
the care of an ordinary stenographer. For some time longer Jane's
typewriter clicks unceasingly, and it is nearly dusk before her task is
finished and she is free to lock her office door and leave the building
for the night.
She walks rapidly along the darkening streets, sorry that she is so
late. She fears Marie will have been watching for her all the afternoon
and worrying perhaps, little Marie, the lame factory girl whom she has
befriended, the girl with eyes so strangely like to Richard's. The
resemblance is startling at times, though Richard's eyes were ever
merry, ever dancing with fun and mischief, while Marie's are grave and
sweet and sad. Still, the likeness is there, and probably that is the
reason that Jane has been so anxious to help this girl, scarce more than
a child, who had appealed to her for aid. Marie was by no means the
first to seek her assistance in time of need, for Miss Horton's name
stands for all that is kind and gracious and helpful in every department
of the factory. The woman who has succeeded, who has worked her way up,
step by step, to a position of trust and confidence, does not forget the
time when she stood, as Marie does now, with her foot upon the lowest
round of the ladder. She never forgets the days when she worked as they
work, and is ever ready to extend a helping hand to those who need it.
To her, then, Marie had come, as had so many others before her, in her
hour of trial and distress. Hastening along the street, Jane smiles as
she recalls the day Marie had first tapped upon her office door and,
entering timidly, waited for permission to speak. Jane had been
unusually busy and frowned impatiently at the interruption. The eyes,
so like to Richard's, had quelled her anger and she listened to the
girl's story.
It was Jackie was the trouble this time, Jackie who came next to her and
who helped in the support of the family. He'd just broken his leg and
was in the hospital and there was no telling when he would be out again.
The twins were sick, too, and there were Nellie and Minnie and the
little baby, and mother not strong enough to work even if she had time
to leave the children. Father? Well, that's just where Miss Horton's
help was needed. Father had worked here in the factory, out in the
shipping-room, but they'd discharged him several weeks ago. Yes, father
had been discharged before, many times before, and had been taken back
again. This time they would not let him come back though he had begged
and pleaded and promised faithfully never to touch the drink again. No,
no, father did not get drunk very often, only once in a while, and he
was never cross or ugly. He was the kindest and best of fathers only he
drank a little just once in a while. Wouldn't Miss Horton please;
please, say a word for father and get them to take him back? Miss
Horton hesitated for a moment, looked into the eyes so like Richard's,
then promised that she would.
She certainly kept her promise and said, not one word, but many, in her
efforts to have Marie's father reinstated in his former position. The
man was a stranger to her, she had never seen him, never even heard his
name before, but for Marie's sake she pleaded his cause most earnestly.
The same reply met her every turn:
"Not a better man in the place when he was sober, the very best worker
we've got. But just when we're busiest and need him most, off he goes
and gets drunk. Not so very often, oh! no, but always when he's needed
most. We've forgiven him time again, but he's had his last chance. We'll
not take him back."
Jane had even appealed to the president himself, but the appeal was
useless. He never interfered in such matters, left them entirely to the
department heads.
The eyes like Richard's filled with tears as Marie was told of the utter
failure of all appeals. The pale face grew paler day by day and the thin
figure drooped wearily. Jane had, more than once, offered pecuniary
help, which had been gently but firmly refused. They'd manage somehow,
Marie thought, until Jackie was well again and able to help, though it
was hard to feed so many on just one girl's pay. If they would only take
father back, that was all the help she needed; just for them to take
father back. He'd not touched a drop now for six months and vowed he
never would again. He'd taken the pledge and was making the First
Fridays. He'd not missed one since he began five months ago, and oh! if
they'd only give him one more chance. That's what father said himself,
that's all he wanted, just one more chance to make good. He meant it
this time, too, Marie was quite sure of that. If they'd only give him
that one chance he'd make the most of it.
Jane Horton had promised to make one more attempt and she is now
carrying to Marie the good news that her efforts have been crowned with
success.
Following the directions given her, she passes from the broad,
well-lighted streets to smaller, darker ones. Finally she turns down a
narrow, crooked alley and enters a tumble-down house at the farther end.
Bad as was the tenement home of her early childhood, this place is far
worse, and a wave of pity fills Jane's heart as she thinks of that
delicate, patient child growing up in surroundings like these. Marie
herself opens the door in response to Jane's knock, her eyes anxiously
asking the question her lips dare not utter.
"Good news, little one, good news," cried Jane joyously, advancing into
the room and taking in at a glance the terrible poverty of the place,
the shabbiness of the woman laying the table for supper, and of the
barefooted, ragged children who stare at her in open-mouthed
astonishment. "Where is your father, Marie? Take me to him at once for I
bring him what he asked for--one more chance to make good."
In answer to Marie's call, the door leading into an adjoining room opens
and a man steps forth. The light of the lamp shines full upon his face,
and for one breathless moment they face each other in silence, the woman
who has succeeded in life, the man who has failed, and to whom she
brings one last chance of redeeming his failure.
Despite the change of name and the greater changes wrought by the hand
of time, she knows him at once. It is Richard, her brother.