He went on to say that his magazine was doing its best to give the country a true picture of what had happened and what was happening here. Among the accounts he was running there was one outstanding piece which had been written by a young lady who was here tonight. Perhaps it wasn't fair to spring this on her without warning, but it was rather fun. Of all the pieces that were now reaching him, this was one of the most humanly written. Reading it you could almost smell the smoke and feel the rain of cinders, but you could hear a heart beating too— the heart of San Francisco. He wanted very much to present to them Miss Melora Cranby, author of the article.
Melora sat frozen at her place, turning hot and then cold, not knowing which way to look or what to do. From across the table Mama was waving at her to get up, to say something. She was aware fleetingly of Tony's triumphant smile and her father's pleasure, of Gran's look that was somehow not surprised, but very proud. It was Quent who came to her aid.
"Just get up and smile and say 'thank you,'" he whispered and helped to pull back her chair.
She could manage that much, though all the faces and smiles seemed to dance before her. Then she sat down while applause rang through the big room.
The formal part of the dinner ended after that. Mr. Forrest left his place and came directly to speak to Melora.
"You'll be receiving a letter from me in a day or two," he said. "With our check, of course. We're making a few changes if you agree—just to remove the personal touches in the piece. And, Melora, while this was one of those natural subjects you might handle rather easily, I feel that you have talent for this type of writing. I want to talk to you about these things soon, my dear."
He squeezed her hand and she could only murmur another thank-you before he went back to his place.
"Well, don't look so stunned," Quent said. "We've always known you were smart. Maybe we've another Gertrude Atherton in our midst."
His banter helped and her senses stopped whirling so that she could settle down a little and look at this wonderful thing that had happened to her. Not that it was to be believed yet—not wholly. And she couldn't even think of the possibilities it might open to her. The prospect was too dizzying. Thank goodness Papa was still here. She'd have a long talk with him tomorrow.
TONY
People were turning away from the long tables, moving about the room to talk and visit, while Papa Lombardi and his waiters brought them coffee.
Mama rushed over to hug Melora; Gran said they were proud of her but that this was just a beginning to some good hard work; and Papa said more with his deep, quiet look than anyone else managed with words. It was lovely to have them all so pleased and proud. She looked around for Tony and saw him talking to one of the guests who had known his father. He gave her a quick salute of approval.
Cora, as excited tonight as Mama, caught her sister about the waist and whirled her in circles until all the lavender bows on Melora's dress danced too.
"There—you see! Now aren't you glad I gave that letter to Tony?" Cora cried, and Melora had to admit breathlessly that she was.
Cora looked about the room and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. "Maybe this is our chance to run away from the party and climb to the top of the hill. We can't be on Telegraph Hill and not go to the top. Let's see if the boys are willing."
Melora was happy enough where she was, but a breath of fresh air would be nice. And she would like being nearer Tony than she'd been all evening.
When the boys agreed, they got into their wraps. The two girls tried veils over their heads, knowing it would be blowy on the hilltop. Tony, who knew every inch of the hill, led the way up a winding path.
Cora followed close on his heels while, as usual, Melora fell back with Quent, who was in no hurry and never one to gallop up a hillside. Trees arched over the path and the smell of green things was strong enough to mask the burned odor that was always on the wind.
It was a brilliantly clear night, with the fog horns silent and a full moon shining through the dark leafiness overhead.
"Melora!" Quent called and she paused in her effort to keep up with Cora's swift pace.
She turned and waited in a clear, moonlit space on the path. He came up to her, oddly solemn for Quent, and before she knew his intent he put a hand on each arm and bent to kiss her, lightly, quickly. This was a Quent she did not know.
"There," he said, still serious. "That's because I'm proud of you. And because I won't have another chance. You can give me back my ring now, Melora."
"But—I thought ... I mean, you said— '' she faltered.
"Of course if you want to make our engagement official"—he was smiling now—"I'll be a gentleman and oblige. But if you want to be let off—"
She took the ring from her finger and gave it to him. None of this made any sense. Why should he suddenly decide on this course, when he had seemed so set against it before?
"People will say I'm throwing you over because of—of what has happened to your father," she reminded him.
Quent shrugged. "The ones who count will know better."
"Has Papa been talking to you?" Melora asked.
He shook his head. "No one has talked to me. I've just been using my eyes, that's all."
She didn't know what he meant, but Cora called to them from the top of the path and they went on. Eventually, Melora supposed, Quent would get around to telling her why he'd come to this decision. But for the moment she could only feel a sense of relief and release. Her hand was bare of the make-believe sign she had worn. It was bare for Tony to see.
Tony and Cora were waiting below the ruin of the "castle" which had once raised its bastions near the top of the hill.
"Shall we go on?" Tony asked.
Quent seated himself lazily on a low stone wall and pulled Cora down beside him before she could resist.
"No, thanks," he said. "I've had enough of looking at ruins. You two go ahead. Cora will keep me from pining away."
"I will not!" Cora cried and started to her feet. But Quent held her deliberately beside him.
"Yes you will, my poppet. Granpa wants to talk to you for a minute. There's a thing or two you need to know."
Cora stayed.
"Come along," said Tony to Melora.
They climbed to the crest. The wind struck them, whipping at Melora's skirts, tearing at her veil. There was a cool, bracing sting to its thrust that whipped cobwebs from the mind and filled the lungs with clean, sea-borne air.
"Cora is a most determined young lady," Tony said, laughing a little, but before she could speak he went on to other matters. "It's wonderful that Mr. Forrest liked your piece. We're all proud of you."
"Thanks to you," Melora said. "I can't really believe in it yet—all the possibilities it opens up. I've been longing to do something. Perhaps this is it."
'There ought to be more of an escape for you than into words," Tony said.
She didn't know what he meant. He brushed her arm lightly with his fingers and all her senses were aware of his touch.
"Look," he said.
The hill slanted steeply from beneath their feet The view in the moonlight was both beautiful and a little terrifying. There were isolated patches of light in the darkness, and there were rings of distant light cut off by the hills. But for the most part the streets ran like straight white lines beneath the moon, ruled bewteen strips of dead black. High across the dark valley a tiny cluster of lights shone on Russian Hill.
"They saved Mrs. Stevenson's house on Russian Hill," Tony said. "A little triangle of other houses escaped too. But the house my father built is gone. It was a small house just beyond those we can see."
"I'm sorry," Melora said.
"There was a whole room in it filled with books," Tony mused. "I used to lie on my stomach before the fire in that library for hours at a time when I was small, reading and dreaming about all I'd do when I grew up. About how I'd be somebody important and make everyone pay attention to me. Mama was sure I'd ruin my eyesight, but my fat
her made her let me be. You know, I think she's almost glad the house burned down."
Melora glanced at him. "But why?"
"Well, she always lived the way he wanted to live while he was there. But afterwards it was only a shell of a house for her. She stayed because my father had wanted her to—because of me. But I'm sure she's happier here with my grandfather and the others. She loves the excitement and laughter and tempers and tears. But I—well, I'm more like my father."
Melora wondered how true that was and if he might not be fooling himself a little. Tony liked excitement too. She didn't want to see him turn against his own people.
"Your grandfather is a wonderful person," she said. "I'm sure his heart is as big as the bay, and—"
Tony broke in resentfully. "When I was in school they used to call me 'wop' and 'dago.' But I belong to my father's side, not my mother's. I want to stay as far away as possible from people who speak broken English and try to make America just like the old country. I won't carry a handicap like that around with me!"
His words shocked her. Eddie Quong came to mind and she could see him bowing respectfully in his uncle's direction. She could hear the words he had spoken that day. My uncle is old China. It is a fine thing to be old China. Eddie, with his American college education, had still been proud of his uncle and the heritage behind him. It seemed to Melora that he was right.
She reached out with her hands, as if to encompass all the ash-strewn space below their hill. "I don't think America can ever be just one kind of people," she protested. "Couldn't you feel all the lively, boiling mixture out there during the days of the fire? We were all so different, and yet we were all part of the same thing. We all liked each other and were ready to help each other."
"Earthquake love!" said Tony scornfully. "It won't last."
"I don't believe that. I don't think we'll ever go back entirely to what we were before."
But she knew she hadn't convinced him and she was sorry. She sighed without realizing it and he swung her suddenly toward him.
"I didn't come up here to talk about these things," he said. He raised her left hand in the moonlight. "So Quent told the truth. He said he'd get his ring back tonight and clear the air of his make-believe. Why didn't you tell me before, Melora?"
So that was what Quent had been up to.
"How could I tell you I was a fraud when you'd said you admired my honesty?" she asked unhappily. "The whole thing began as a joke, but we kept getting more tangled up in it and it became harder and harder to explain it to everybody. I'm glad I can now."
He drew her into his arms and she went unresisting. "How foolish you are, Melora. How could you believe I'd think you a fraud because of something so silly as this? I knew you were what I wanted from the moment when you walked into the shop that day, and I haven't wavered once since then."
"But you—you don't really know me," she faltered.
"Oh, yes I do. You stand for the things I want, Melora. Maybe Nob Hill's not important to you, but it is to me."
Melora stiffened in dismay. "But that's foolish. We're not Nob Hill. And we're poorer than ever now. Besides—that's the wrong reason—"
"I'm not talking about money!" Tony cried, laughing and shaking her a little. "I'll take care of that myself. But I'm not going to stay tied to a background of Telegraph Hill."
She was bewildered by his outburst. Whatever she had expected from him, it was not this. But he tilted her chin and when he kissed her she no longer tried to think, to understand. This was something she had wanted and dreamed about. She could not question this moment with Tony's arms around her and his cheek rough against her own.
"We'll be married," he said. "We'll be married just as soon as I get my first real part in the theater. You know that I'm going to be an actor, don't you? Not just an actor of bit parts—but a star some day at the very top."
He held her away from him, smiling at her confusion. He was going much too fast, but she felt breathlessly happy without bothering about words.
"You'll have to get used to the fact that I'm a dramatic fellow," he told her. "I'll never move at Quent's pace. Oh, I don't mean that we must go down now and announce this to your family. I've sense enough to know they'd all be set against it. But if we can't win them over in time, we'll have to elope. How would you like that, Melora?"
She gasped and he kissed her again.
"Don't look so startled. Everything will work out. I've some irons in the fire right now. It won't be long before theaters will be opening up in San Francisco again, and all I ask is one chance to convince an audience of what I can do."
She knew without the faintest doubt that he could convince an audience as he could convince her.
He gave her a last kiss and then took her hand. "We'd better go back before they send out a search party."
Hand in hand they went down toward the place where they had left Cora and Quent. For a little while there was only the moonlit world, the warm clasp of his fingers on hers, and this moment of complete happiness.
Cora was nowhere in sight. Quent still sat there staring up at the stars. He stood up and stretched, the old mockery back in his voice as he greeted them.
"About time you remembered me. As you can see, I've been deserted by my fair companion. Well, do you two have everything fixed up? Are you into a new engagement, Melora?"
The betraying warmth rushed into her cheeks as Tony answered.
"Not officially, my boy," he said jauntily. "But thanks for your cooperation, Quent. And we'll appreciate your silence on the matter for a while."
"Granted, old chap, granted!" said Quent, equally carefree.
They said very little on the way downhill. Melora drew on her gloves, not wanting Mama to note the absence of her ring tonight. There'd be time enough for that tomorrow.
"Am I really engaged this time?" she asked herself wonderingly. Somehow she didn't believe it. It was a little like a play and she'd become involved with the action on the wrong side of the footlights.
A CHANCE FOR TONY
The others were waiting for them by the time they reached Lombardi's. Cora was being very gay and bright. She did not look at Tony, and when Melora went near her she turned away.
As they started home Melora rode in the buggy with Quent and Tony, while Cora stayed near her father and came home in the car with her elders. Fortunately, the car started while rolling downhill. On the drive home the boys talked lightiy about old times in school. Melora felt bereft of words.
Now and then she stole a look at Tony, liking what she saw, feeling a little tingly as she remembered his kiss. How strange that she and Tony had found each other. That was another accident of the fire.
She avoided Quent, even when they reached home and he told her good night gravely. She had the uncomfortable feeling that he was criticizing her.
In her room, dressed in her nightgown and ready for bed, she still felt wide awake. If she got into bed right away she knew her thoughts would only chase about on one another's heels. Among other things to think about there was the problem of Cora.
How seriously were her sister's feelings involved? It wasn't fair to dismiss Cora's notions about Tony as a "crush," just because she was younger. Melora could remember a boy in school whom she had liked for most of one year, though he had not returned her interest. Now she could hardly remember how he looked or what it was that had seemed so remarkable about him. Yet his indifference had hurt deeply at the time. Cora could be suffering equally.
She slipped into her wrapper and went down the hall to Cora's room. Her tap on the door was light, so she wouldn't rouse the house. There was no answer—only a stillness beyond the door that was like a held breath.
"Cora," she whispered, "it's Mellie. Let me come in for a minute."
"Go away!" Cora said in a voice filled with tears.
Melora turned the knob softly and stepped into the room. She stood for a moment studying shadowy outlines. Then she crossed the room and sat down on the edge of Cor
a's bed.
"Honey," she said, "don't be angry. Don't be hurt. Whatever it was Quent told you, I'm sure he made a mess of it."
Cora flopped over on her stomach and buried her face in the pillow. "Go away and leave me alone! I don't want to talk to you. How was I to know that Tony—that you—" She gulped and let the words go unfinished.
Melora stroked her arm.
"Nothing's really settled yet," she said. "Tony wants to go on the stage. And I believe he will too. I think he wants that more than anything else."
Cora seemed not to hear her. "I know I've behaved badly. I know I've flirted and tried my best to attract his attention. But, Mellie, you don't know how hard it is—being your sister."
"What do you mean?" Melora asked.
"Oh, you were always the smart one. When you're in a room people know you're theref even when you don't say a word. But they never pay any attention to me unless I make them."
"What nonsense!" Melora cried. "You're the pretty one I've always envied. Everyone loves you and likes to have you around."
"Being pretty isn't enough. I suppose that's why I do crazy things sometimes. Like jumping up on that box and helping Tony sell those books. I wanted him to notice me and think I was wonderful. But it wasn't any use. Quent says—"
"Quent's always leaping to conclusions. All he's done tonight is embarrass us all and—"
Cora turned on her side. "But Tony—how does he feel? About you, I mean?"
This was dangerous ground. "I don't know whether Tony himself knows exactly how he feels," Melora ventured after a moment. "Perhaps a person who dramatizes a lot thinks he feels strongly about whatever seems to be important at the moment." Her own words frightened her a little, even as she spoke them. If this were really true about Tony...
Cora pushed a fist into her pillow. "How can you be so callous about how Tony feels? You don't care about Tony the way I do!"
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