had sagged back into the cross streets. But even here the police
charged them repeatedly, and the bewildered people turned
struggling to escape, stumbled, swayed, became panic-stricken and
lost their heads.

A Broadway stage, stranded in Canal Street, was besieged as a
refuge. Toward it Berkley had been borne in spite of his efforts
to extricate himself, incidentally losing his hat in the confusion.
At the same moment he heard a quiet, unterrified voice pronounce
his name, caught a glimpse of Ailsa Paige swept past on the human
wave, set his shoulders, stemmed the rush from behind, and into the
momentary eddy created, Ailsa was tossed, undismayed, laughing, and
pinned flat against the forward wheel of the stalled stage.

"Climb up!" he said. "Place your right foot on the hub!--now the
left on the tire!--now step on my shoulder!"

There came a brutal rush from behind; he braced his back to it; she
set one foot on the hub, the other on the tire, stepped to his
shoulder, swung herself aloft, and crept up over the roof of the
stage. Here he joined her, offering an arm to steady her as the
stage shook under the impact of the reeling masses below.

"How did you get into this mob?" he asked.

"I was caught," she said calmly, steadying herself by the arm he
offered and glancing down at the peril below. "Celia and I were
shopping in Grand Street at Lord and Taylor's, and I thought I'd
step out of the shop for a moment to see if the 7th was coming, and
I ventured too far--I simply could not get back. . . . And--thank