the Gulf adrift. In the air was a caress. Fanny, in a frock the
color of pale pastel pink, a wide hat in which that color was
repeated, her eyes blue as the sea and bluer, added to its charm.

As Annandale approached she smiled and gave him a finger. But at once
the smile fell from her. With the finger which he had released she
pointed at the big hotel. Annandale turned. Other people were turning.
Some were running. A child that had been at play in the sand jumped
and clapped his hands. About one side of the hotel a sheet of flame
was climbing, crackling in and out. A cry of "Fire!" caught up and
renewed, mounted in the crystalline air.

"Damn!" said Annandale. "If that goes----"

Fanny said nothing. Her eyes widened. Through the windows that front
the beach more flames were leaping. From the side the first flames
passed to shops over the way, passed back with fresh ones created and
joined the others beyond. Above was smoke. Higher yet the tender blue
of the sky. But below was a whirlwind of ochre, scarlet and gamboge, a
fierce yet compact tornado of oscillant hues, shot with green and
shuttled with black. Then suddenly, with a roar, the tornado doubled,
the roof had fallen. The child that had jumped and clapped his hands,
feebly now was beginning to cry.

"It is glorious," said Fanny.

"I am afraid--" Annandale muttered.

Fanny glanced at him. Yet at once she understood. On the other side of
the hotel, across the road, the Casino stood. Her mother, of course,
would be safe. But her clothes! At thought of them her hand went to
her throat.

"Do you think the Casino will catch?" she gasped.

Annandale nodded.

"Oh," she continued, "I shan't have a stitch, not one."

"Yes, you shall," Annandale heroically retorted. "I will see to them.
But I must run. Find your mother if you can and take her to the Inn."

The Inn, a hotel half a mile away, was where Annandale lodged. At once
he was off. Shortly, by a detour, he got to the other side of the
fire. As he swung about he saw that the Casino's ballroom had caught.
But that part of the place was of wood. The other end, where Fanny
lodged, was of wood also, but it was also partly of stone. To this
part as yet the flames had not reached.

As Annandale ran he told himself that he would have time to get in and
get out, but he told himself too that it was a ridiculous job. Fanny's
clothes a stroke of his pen could replace. But now the crowd impeded
him. Lines had formed