em were responsible for as many more.
Then he advised Gwynne to order that all the bath-tubs in the house
should be filled with what water was left in the pipes, and that a stock
of provisions from the neighboring grocer and butcher should be laid in.
"Personally I don't believe the fire will ever come as far as this," he
said. "But there'll be a famine, no doubt of that. The wires are all
down, scarcely a train is running, the country may be as hard hit as
ourselves--and all that crowd down there to feed!"

Gwynne thanked him and replied that the launch was in waiting; but when
the man had gone he called the Japs, gave them money, and ordered them
to follow his neighbor's suggestion. He realized that he had no desire
to leave this city where life was suddenly keyed to its highest pitch,
and retire to the security and inaction of the country. Moreover, he
recalled the promise he had given Hofer and his other friends on the
night of the ball: this might be the emergency, and what services he
could render should be given freely enough.

Lady Victoria and Isabel came forth, and they all made their way rapidly
down to Nob Hill. The stair was more rickety than ever, and many of the
older houses they passed looked badly shaken within, if not
without--every door was open. The floors were covered with plaster; more
often than not the furniture and ornaments, and even mantels, were
massed in an indistinguishable heap. The Hofers' door, like the rest,
was open, and they saw that the spiral marble stair was a pile of
glittering splinters and that the pictures had been turned completely
round or flung across the hall. Mrs. Hofer had been too eager to reign
on Nob Hill to wait for a new foundation. Several of the servants were
sitting on the steps, and informed Gwynne that all the family, including
the children, had gone out in two automobiles an hour before, to see the
city.

They walked down the hill, stopped many times by returning citizens
anxious to impart information. The Italians on Telegraph Hill were mad
with terror: "they were no Californians," in accents of bitter contempt.
Portsmouth Square was full of Chinamen laughing at the women that had
run there from the hotels without shoes on their feet, and only an opera
or automobile cloak over their night-clothes. Even more amused were
those Oriental philosophers at the white scared faces of the prisoners
clinging to the bars of the jail. Nobody could tell how many people ha