because it didn't demand better protection and fire-drills--all are to
blame. You take too much on yourself...."

And gradually, striving with him through the early morning hours, she
calmed him, she soothed him, and got him to bed. He was at last too
weary to think or feel and he slept deep into the day. And thinking a
little of herself, she realized that the tragedy had brought them closer
together than they had been for years.

* * * * *

Out of those ashes on East Eighty-first Street rose a certain splendor
over the city. All of New York drew together with indignation and
wondrous pity. It did not bring the dead girls to life again--it was too
late for that--but it brought many other dead people to life.

Fifty thousand dollars flowed to the newspapers for relief; an inquest
probed causes and guilt and prevention; mass--meetings were held; the
rich and the powerful forgot position and remembered their common
humanity; and the philanthropic societies set to work with money, with
doctors and nurses and visitors. The head of one huge association said
to the relief committee in a low, trembling voice: "Of course, our whole
staff is at your service." Just for a time, a little time, the
five-million-manned city flavored its confused, selfish struggle with
simple brotherhood.

How had it happened? Whose was the fault? How came it that sixty girls
were imprisoned in the skies, as it were, and could only fling
themselves down to the stone pavement in an insanity of terror? What war
was more horrible than this Peace of Industry? Such things must be