The party jumped to their feet.
"That scoundrel Hewes!" fairly shouted Uncle Nathan, in a voice much like a blast itself. "He's blown into our galleries on the ridge! I feared he would. The scoundrel. He'll pay for this; the villain, oh! the villain!" He caught a chair for support, and went on in a torrent of imprecation.
The dinner ended abruptly, and every one ran out on the broad veranda.
Loud voices could be heard coming from the direction of the foundry, and far off on the hill-side lights were moving as if people were there with torches.
[to be continued.]
[THE BRIDGE OF AN OCEAN LINER.]
BY FRANKLIN MATTHEWS.
If you should go down into the engine-rooms of one of the ocean fliers, when the ship is going at full speed in mid-ocean, and should feel the heat and see the tremendous activity there, you might think you knew exactly how these modern monsters of the sea were propelled. The engines are the heart of the craft, but there has to be a brain, and you find that on the bridge. The bridge is a platform, walled in by canvas about five feet high, and stretching clear across the ship, usually above the wheel-house. You see the hardest kind of work in the engine-rooms, but on the bridge no one seems to do anything, when you look up there from the deck, but stand around and be dignified. If, however, you can get the Captain to take you on the bridge, and tell you of the amount of work done there, you will soon see that the real work in running a ship is on the bridge. The difference between the work in the engine-rooms and that on the bridge is exactly the difference between manual and mental labor.
