the afternoon I heard the newsboys calling out: "Extra! Extra! All
about the * * *" I know not what. My friend came into my room.

"What is that they are calling out?" he said.

We listened. We heard the words: "All about the Great Chicago Theater
Fire."

Three steps at a time we bounded down stairs and bought papers. When
my friend saw the head-lines he exclaimed: "Hundreds burned alive in
the Iroquois Theater. Good God, man, Dolly went to that theater to-
day!"

"Pray God she didn't," said I.

We rushed to the telegraph office and my friend wired to his father:
"Is Dolly lost? Wire me all particulars and tell me the truth."

We went to the newspaper office to see the lists of names as they came
in over the wire, scanning each new list with horrified anxiety. On
one sheet we saw his own family name. The given name was near to, but
not exactly, that of his wife.

May a man pray for the death of his near beloved kin--for the death of
one he loves much--that _she_ may be spared whom he loves more? Not
that, but he will pray that both be spared.

Back to the hotel we ran. No telegram. Back to the newspaper office
and back to the hotel again.