dead. A falling chimney from the California Hotel had crushed him.

There were emergency reservoirs, but no one seemed to know where. They
had not been used for years.

Swiftly the fire gained. It ravaged like a fiend in the factory district
south and east, toward the bay.

By noon a huge smoke curtain hid the sky; through it the sun gleamed
palely like a blood-red disc. Wild rumors were in circulation. Los
Angeles was wiped out. St. Louis had been destroyed. New York and
Chicago were inundated by gigantic tidal waves.

Frank decided to return home and discover how his people fared. Perhaps
there would be a bite for him. He found his father's house surrounded by
a cordon of young soldiers--student militiamen from Berkeley, some one
said. They ordered him off.

"But--" he cried. "It's my HOME. My father and mother are there."

"They were ordered out two hours since," said a youthful officer, who
came up to settle the dispute. "We'll have to dynamite the place.... No
water.... Desperate measures necessary...."

He stopped Frank's effort to reply with further stereotyped
announcements. "Orders of the Admiral, Mayor, Chief of Police.... Sorry.
Can't be helped.... Keep back, everybody. Men have orders to shoot."

He made off tempestuously busy and excited.

Frank shouted after him, "Wait, where have my parents gone? Did they
leave any word?"

The young man turned, irritably. "Don't know," he answered, and resumed
his vehement activities. Frank, with a strange, empty feeling, retraced
his way, fought a path by means of sheer will and the virtue of his
police badge across Market street, and struck out toward Lafayette
Square. Scarcely realizing it, he was bound for Aleta's apartment.

A warped shaft had incapacitated the automatic elevator, so he climbed
three flights of stairs and found Aleta packing.

"Frank!" she cried, and ran to him. "This is good of you." She took both
of his hands and clung to them as if she were a little frightened.

"Wait," she said. "I'll bet you've had nothing to eat. I'll make you a
cup of coffee and a toasted cracker on the spirit lamp."

Silently he sat on a broken chair and watched her. He was immensely
grateful and--he suddenly realized--immensely weary. What a dear girl
Aleta was! And he had not thought of her till all else failed him.

Soon the coffee was steaming in two little Dresden cups, one minus a
handle. There was a plateful of crackers, buttered and toasted, a bit of