fight for honorable recognition from the world. He would prove that
a "has-been" can come back. He would brand the negative as a lie. And
then--Sue. Perhaps--perhaps.

Those were the two roads. Which would he traverse? Whichever it was,
though his heart, his entire being, lay with the latter, he would follow
the pointing finger of honor; follow it to the end, no matter what
it might cost, or where it might lead. Love had restored to him the
appreciation of man's birthright; the birthright without which nothing
is won in this world or the next. He had gained self-respect. At present
it was but the thought. He would fight to make it reality; fight to keep
it.

And that night as the train was leaping out of the darkness toward
the lights of the great city, racing toward its haven, rushing like a
falling comet, some one blundered. The world called it a disaster; the
official statement, an accident, an open switch; the press called it
an outrage. Pessimism called it fate--stern mother of the unsavory.
Optimism called it Providence. At all events, the train jammed shut
like a closing telescope. Undiluted Hades was very prevalent for over an
hour. There were groans, screams, prayers--all the jargon of those about
to precipitately return from whence they came. It was not a pleasant
scene. Ghouls were there. But mercy, charity, and great courage were
also there. And Garrison was there.

Fate, the unsavory, had been with him. He had been thrown clear at the
first crash; thrown through his sleeping-berth window. Physically he was
not very presentable. But he fought a good fight against the flames and
the general chaos.