t won't."

"Well, I'll go, then. If you change your mind you can have the launch.
Only come to me first. Mr. Clatt is standing over it with a
six-shooter."

"Thanks. Sorry you won't come in. Lys won't sit down for about a week,
he's _that_ nervous, so you'll probably see him up on the Hill."

Isabel started for home, and when she reached Fillmore Street discovered
that she was tired. It was then that she regretted not having reserved a
dollar or two; but no doubt Victoria was at home by this time. She found
a livery-stable, and asked the proprietor, lounging in the entrance, if
he could send her to the foot of her bluff.

"Yes, for fifty dollars," he said, coolly. Fillmore Street was a
prosperous slum, another brief level between two steep acclivities. It
was not yet aware of the proud destiny that awaited it, that for the
next year or more it was to be the teeming centre of the abbreviated
city's life, but there never was a time when it was burdened with
manners, or the grand point of view. When Isabel stared, the man
continued: "Yes, ma'am! Fifty's the ticket. And two hours later it may
be five hundred. Some people are getting mighty nervous, and I've let
five hacks and buggies already, at my own figure, to them as wants to
get out of town quick."

Isabel turned her back on him, and climbed and descended again. Lower
Van Ness Avenue was even more torn and lumpy than where she had crossed
it at California Street, and hundreds of the South of Market Street
refugees were sitting or lying in the middle of the street, worn out but
stolid. Just beyond, she caught up with a teamster, who, noticing the
fatigue in her eyes, stopped his horses and offered her a "lift,"
provided she was "going his way."

Isabel gratefully climbed to his high perch, after stating that she had
no money, and being royally silenced.

"Oh, shucks!" said the man. "I guess this is the time to do other folks
a good turn. You'd do the same for me, I'll bet. What do you think of
this business, anyhow?"

Isabel replied hopefully, but he shook his head.

"City's doomed. Far as Van Ness, anyhow. Nothin' ain't goin' to stop
that fire but water, and water's just what they haven't got. Lord! to
think of that bay on three sides of the city. Talk about the Ancient
Mariner. I don't live in the city, but I'll be sorry to see it go. Lord!
warn't that a shake? I was flung plumb out of bed and against the wall,
and the house next to mine, or the one I war i