ocated fingers; Ellis in a rage because
he could get no cocktails at the bar, only straight drinks that
night--too much of a crowd. These damn college sports thought they
owned the town. "Ah, let's get out of here, Van!" he called over the
heads of the throng as soon as Vandover came in sight.

They went out into the street and started in the direction of the
restaurant where they had decided to eat their Thanksgiving dinner.
After leaving Vandover that afternoon Ellis had seen the head waiter of
this restaurant and had explained to him the bill of fare that Vandover,
the Dummy, and himself had arranged during their lunch at the Lick
House. The streets had relapsed into a momentary quiet--it was between
half-past six and seven--and most of the college men were gathered into
the hotels and cafes eating dinner. About an hour later they would
reappear again for a moment on their way to the theatre, which they were
to attend in a body.

But Vandover suddenly discovered that he could not eat a mouthful, the
smell of food revolted him, and little by little an irregular twitching
had overcome his hands and forearms.

He had received a great shock. That same evening, as he was leaving the
hotel, the clerk at the office had handed him some letters that had
accumulated in his box. Vandover could never think to ask for his mail
in the morning as he went in to breakfast. Something was surely wrong
with his head of late. Every day he found it harder and harder to
remember things. There were three letters altogether: one was the
tailor's bill mailed the same day that his last suit had been finished;
a second was an advertisement announcing the near opening of the Sutro
Baths that were building at that time; and the third a notice from the
bank calling his attention to the fact that his account was overdrawn by
some sixty dollars.

At first Vandover did not see the meaning of this notice, and thrust it
back in his pocket together with the tailor's bill; then slowly an idea
struggled into his mind. Was it possible that he no longer had any money
at the bank? Was his fifteen thousand gone? From time to time his
bank-book had been balanced, and invariably during the first days of
each month his checks had come back to him, used and crumpled, covered
with strange signatures and stamped in blue ink; but after the first few
months he had never paid the least attention to these; he never kept
accounts, having a veritable feminine horror