ctive. On six days
out of the seven the streets were torn with wind when they were not
drenched with rain, and in the dry season the dust was intolerable;
although San Franciscans vowed it was a part of the picture and missed
it when abroad. But gay as certain sections of San Francisco was at
night, its residence districts always had a deserted air, and on Sunday
nothing could exceed the brown desolation of the shopping streets. From
a variety of causes San Franciscans were averse from too much
pedestrianism, and one could walk for blocks and pass nothing but an
occasional carriage, or the trolley-cars shrieking up and down the
hills, or emptying themselves into Kearney and Montgomery streets with
the racket of a besieging army.

But this Christmas Day it was clear and warm, and the wind drifted about
as if its wings were tired. All the world was on the cable and trolley
cars, but bound for park and sea, and in the opposite direction from the
three on their way to the valley south of Market Street. Kearney Street
would have looked like a necropolis had it not been for several patient
horses standing with their feet on the pavement, their ears cocked
towards a saloon, or establishment for "rifle practice"; and even Market
Street, on week-days barely passable with its trucks, four lines of
cars, and a mass of humanity, was almost deserted. They walked past the
Palace Hotel, down Second Street, and by many dingy peeling low-browed
and entirely hideous shops and flats, with glimpses into unsavory cross
streets, until they came to the block owned by the Otises since the
early Fifties. Even in its present condition the rents were
considerable, and as it was but a stone's-throw from several other new
office buildings, there was no question that in the course of a few
years the land value would be doubled, and Gwynne regretted being forced
to sell a portion of his share in order to be able to erect a building
large enough to pay. What was left of Hiram Otis's portion, inherited by
Isabel, stood on the opposite corner, and now yielded only ground rent,
the old buildings having crumbled on the stock-market. But the land
could be sold conditionally, and once more Miss Montgomery suggested
building. Gwynne turned to Isabel with interest.

"Do!" he exclaimed. "Come in with us, and we'll put up a larger
building. Sell your land and I'll borrow money on one of the ranches,
and sell out my Consols. Then I can hold on to all this, and