me
thirteen blocks before them, but the streets were full of people and of
ruddy light.

She returned to the house and sat down on the porch, her eyes diverted
from the fire for a moment by the picture of Sugihara, a pair of
eye-glasses in front of his spectacles, comfortably established on a
chair in the garden and reading by the lamp of the burning city. It was
apparent that he had forgotten the 18th of April.

Isabel was alone but a moment. Stone burst in upon her. He had
approached from behind, and came running down the hill.

"Isabel," he cried. "Get a bottle of champagne."

"Champagne?"

"Yes. It may be six months before I see another--but that is a mere
detail. I want to drink to the old city."

Isabel, who liked him best in his dramatic moments, found a bottle of
champagne. He knocked the head off, and filling the glass, went down to
the first landing of the long narrow flight of steps. He held the glass
high, pointing it first towards the middle of what had been Market
Street, and was now a river of fire, then slowly shifting it along
towards Kearney and Montgomery, as he named the restaurants that had
given San Francisco no mean part of her fame.

"Here's to Zinkand's, Tait's, The Palace Grill! The Poodle Dog!
Marchand's! The Pup! Delmonico's! Coppa's! The Fashion! The Hotel de
France! And here's to the Cocktail Route, the Tenderloin, and the
Bohemian Club! And here's--" By this time his voice was dissolving, and
the glass was describing eccentric curves. "Here's to the old city,
whose like will never be seen this side of hell again. Pretty good
imitation of heaven in spots, and everything you chose to look for,
anyway. And the prettiest women, the best fellows, the greatest
all-night life, the finest cooking, the wickedest climate. Here's to San
Francisco--and damn the bounder that calls her 'Frisco!"

Then he drank what was left of the contents of his glass and hastily
refilled it. After he had finished the bottle luxuriously, he held out
his hand to Isabel. "Come along?" he asked. Then, as she shook her head:
"I must go back to Paula and the kids. The mattresses are out in the
Park already. You are in no danger, what with the neighbors above and
the patrol. Good luck to you," and he vanished.

Isabel was alone at last, a state she had unconsciously wished for all
day--it seemed a month since the morning. She sat down and leaned her
elbows on the railing. Now that the sun was gone, the heavens, or