There were cable cars on most of the streets; a few electric lines whichran much more swiftly. But people deemed the latter dangerous. There wasmuch popular sentiment against electrizing Market street. The UnitedRailways, which had succeeded the old Market Street Railway Company, wasin disfavor. There were rumors of illicit bargains with the Supervisorsfor the granting of proposed new franchises. Young Partridge made muchof this. He warned the public that it was about to be "betrayed." Buthis prophetic eloquence availed him little. Schmitz and all the UnionLabor candidates won by a great majority.
* * * * *
Frank sought Aleta at the Dusty Doughnut some months later. He was verytired, for the past few days had brought a multitude of tasks. He hadcounted on Aleta's smile. It seldom failed to cheer him, to restore thenormal balance of his mind. But, though she came, the smile was absent.There was a faint ghost of it now and again; a harried look about theeyes. Frank thought there was a mistiness which hinted recent tears.
He laid a hand sympathetically on hers. "What is it, little girl?"
She would not tell him. Her mother was ill. But the trouble did not liethere. Frank was sure. She had borne that burden long anduncomplainingly. Aleta had an ingenue part now at the Alcazar. Only onceor twice a week did she keep the tacit tryst at the little nocturnalcafe. Frank saw her at the Techau, at Zinkand's, the St. Germain, withthe kind of men that make love to actresses. She knew all about thestock market and politics, for some of Ruef's new Supervisors were amongher swains. Once or twice, as the jargon of the journals has it, she had"tipped off" a story to Frank.
She said at last, "I'll tell you something ... but you mustn't print it:This new city government is running wild.... They're scheming to hold upthe town. They've made a list of all the corporations--the UnitedRailways, the telephone company.... Everyone that wants a favor of thecity must pay high. The man who told me this said that his share willtotal $30,000. Ruef and Schmitz will probably be millionaires."
"But how's it to be done? They're being watched, you know. They've lotsof enemies. Bribery would land them in the penitentiary."
The girl leaned forward. "Ah, this isn't ordinary bribery. Anyone thatwants a franchise or a license hires Ruef as his attorney. They say hegets as high at $10,000 for a retaining fee ... and they expect to cleanthe street car company out of a quarter million."
Prank stared. "Why--in God's name!--did he tell you this?"
"He loves me." There was something like defiance in her answer. "Hewants me to accompany him to Europe--when he gets the coin. He says itwon't be long."
"So"--Frank was a little nonplussed--"he wants you to marry him?"
"No," the girl's face reddened. "No, I can't ... he's got a wife."
For a moment there was silence. Then. "What did you tell the--hound,Aleta?"
"He's not a hound," she said evenly. "The wife won't care. She runs withother men...." Her eyes would not meet Frank's. "I--haven't answered."
"But--your mother!"
"Mother's mind is gone," Aleta answered, bitterly. "She doesn't evenrecognize me now.... But she's happy." Her laugh rang, mirthless.
"Aleta," he said, sternly, "do you love this man?"
"No," she said and stared at him. "I--I--"
"What?"
"I love another--if you must know all about it."
"Can't you--marry _him?_ Is he too poor?" asked Stanley.
"Poor?" Her eyes were stars; "that wouldn't matter. No, he's not mysort...."
"Does he know?"
"No," Aleta answered, hastily. "No, he doesn't ... and he never will."
* * * * *
Frank told his father something of the conversation.
"Its an open secret," said Francisco, "that Ruef and his crew are outfor the coin. I'll tell you something else you mustn't print, your paperis determined to expose Ruef. The managing editor is on his way toWashington to confer with President Roosevelt.... The plan is to borrowFrancis Heney and William J. Burns."
"What? The pair that has been exposing Senators and land frauds up inOregon?"
His father nodded. "Phew!" The young man whistled. "You were right whenyou predicted that there was a shakeup coming."
* * * * *
Frank, expecting startling things to happen, kept his mind alert. Butthe months passed uneventfully. The editor returned from Washington. Nosensational announcement followed the event. Later it was rumored thatBurns had sent operatives to the city. They were gathering evidence, oneunderstood, but if they did, naught seemed to come of it. Frank wasvaguely disappointed. Now and then he saw Aleta, but the subject oftheir former talk was not resumed. Vaguely he wondered what manner ofman was her beloved.
Frank resented the idea that he was above her. Aleta was good enoughfor any man.
Bertha was visiting her aunt's home in the East. She had been veryrestless and capricious just before she went. All women were thus, hesupposed. But he missed her.
CHAPTER LXXVIII
THE FATEFUL MORN
On the evening of April 17, 1906, Frank and Bertha, who had recentlyreturned, attended the opera. The great Caruso, whose tenor voice hadtaken the East by storm, and whose salary was reputed to be fabulous,had come at last to San Francisco. Fremsted, almost equally famous, wassinging with him in "Carmen" at the Grand Opera House. All the townturned out in broadcloth, diamonds, silks and decollete to hear them--ayounger generation of San Franciscans assuming a bit uncomfortably thatsocial importance which had not yet become genealogically sureof itself.
Frank and Bertha drove down in the electric brougham, for which they hadwith difficulty found a place along the vehicle-lined curb of Missionstreet. And, as they were early, they halted in the immense andhandsome, though old-fashioned, foyer to observe the crowd. The air washeavy with perfume.
"Look at that haughty dame with a hundred-thousand dollar necklace," hesmiled. "One would have thought her father was at least a king. Fortyyears ago he drove a dray.... And that one with the ermine coat andpriceless tiara. Wouldn't you take her for a princess? Ah, well, morepower to her! But her mother cleaned soiled linen in Washerwoman'sLagoon and her dad renovated cuspidors, swept floors in theBella Union."
But the girl did not seem interested. "I wonder," she remarked a littlelater, "why it makes so very much--ah--difference ... who one'sparents were?"
There was a curious, half-detached sadness in her tone. Frank wonderedsuddenly if he had blundered. Bertha had never mentioned her parents. Hevaguely understood that they had died abroad and had foreborne toquestion, fearing to arouse some tragic memory.
"Of course, it really doesn't matter," he said hastily; "it's only whenpeople put on airs that I think of such things." She took his arm withfingers that trembled slightly. "Let us go in. The overture isbeginning."
During an intermission she whispered. "I wish I were like Carmen--boldenough to fight the world for lo--for what I wanted."
"Aren't you?" he turned and looked at her.
"No, sometimes I'm overwhelmed ... feel as though I can't look life inthe face." He saw that her lips were trembling, that her eyes werewinking back the tears.
"What is it, dear?" he questioned. But she did not answer. The curtainrose upon the final act.
Silently they moved out with a throng whose silk skirts swished andrustled. The men were restless, glad of a chance at the open and asmoke; the women gay, exalted, half intoxicated by the musical appeal totheir emotions. There was an atmosphere almost of hysteria in the greatswiftly emptying auditorium.
"I feel sort of--smothered," Bertha said; "suppose we walk."
"Gladly," answered Frank, "but what about the coupe?"
"There's one of these new livery stables with machine shop attached notfar away. They call it a garage.... We'll leave the brougham there,"she said.
* * * * *
The night was curiously still--breathless one might have called it.While
the temperature was not high, there was an effect of warmth,vaguely disturbing like the presage of a storm. As they traversed aregion of hotels and apartment houses, Frank and Bertha noted many openwindows; men and women staring out half dreamily. They passed a liverystable, out of which there came a weird uncanny dissonance of horsesneighing in their stalls.
"Tell me of your actress friend. Do you see her often?" Bertha asked.
"Not very. She's a good pal. But she's ... well, not like you."
Her eyes searched him. "Do you mean she's not as--pretty, Frank?"
"Oh, I don't know," he answered. "It's because I love you, dear. Aleta'sright enough. But she's not--oh, you know--essential."
Bertha squeezed his arm. Was silent for a moment. Then, "Aleta's fatherwas a circus rider?"
"Acrobat. Yes, he was killed when she was quite a child."
"But she remembers him; they were married, her mother" and he."
"Why, yes, I suppose so ... naturally."
There was another silence. Suddenly he turned on her, perplexed."Bertha, what is wrong with you tonight?"
They were crossing a little park high up above the city whose lightslay, shimmering and misty, below. The stillness was obtrusive here. Nota leaf stirred. There was no one about. They might have been alone uponsome tropic peak.
"I--can't tell you, Frank." Her tone of blended longing and despaircaught at his heart.
Impetuously his arms went around her. "Dear," he said unsteadily. "Dear,I want you.... Oh, Bertha, I've waited so long! I don't care any more ifyou're rich ... I'm going to--you've got to promise...."
She tried to protest, to push him away; but Frank held her close. And,after a moment, like a tired child's, her head lay quiet on hisshoulder; her arms stole round his neck; she began to weep softly.
* * * * *
The horror came at dawn.
Frank, startled from a late and restless slumber, thought that he wasbeing shaken or attacked by some intruder. He sprang up, sleepilybewildered. The room rocked with a quick, sharp, jerking motion that wasstrangely terrifying. There was a dull indescribable rumbling,punctuated by a sound of falling things. A typewriter in one end of theroom went over on the floor. A shaving mug danced on the shelf and fell.The windows rattled and a picture on the wall swayed drunkenly.
"Damn!" Frank rubbed his eyes. "An earthquake!"
He heard his mother's scream; his father's reassuring answer. Hurriedlyhe reached for his clothes. Downstairs he found his father endeavoringto calm the frightened servants, one of whom appeared to have hysterics.Presently his mother entered with the smelling salts. Soon the maid'sunearthly laughter ceased.
"Anyone hurt?" Frank questioned anxiously.
"No," his father answered. "Thought the house was going over ... butthere's little damage done."
Suddenly Frank thought of Bertha. He must go to her. She would befrightened.
He ran into the debris-cluttered street. Cable cars stood here andthere, half twisted from the tracks, pavements were littered with bricksfrom fallen chimneys, bits of window glass. Men and women in variousdegrees of dishabille, were issuing from doorways. As he mounted higher,Frank saw smoke spirals rising from the southeastern part of town. Heheard the strident clang of firegongs.
Automobiles were tearing to and fro, with a great shrieking of sirenwhistles.
It seemed like a nightmare through which he tore, without a sense oftime or movement, arriving finally at the marble vestibule of Bertha'shome. It was open and he rushed in, searching, calling. But he got noanswer. Bertha, servants, aunt--all apparently had fled.
CHAPTER XXXIX
THE TURMOIL
Frank never knew just why he turned toward the town from Bertha's emptydwelling. It was an involuntary reaction. The excitement of those lowerlevels seemed to call, and thence he sped. Several timesacquaintances--newspaper men and others--accosted him. Everyone waseagerly alert, feverishly interested, as if by some great adventure.Japanese boys were sweeping up the litter in front of stores. In manyplaces things were being put in order, as if the trouble were over. Butat other points there was confusion and dread. Half-dressed men andwomen wandered about, questing for a cup of coffee, but there was noneto be had, for the gas mains had broken.
People converged toward parks and open spaces. Union Square was crowdedwith a strangely varied human mass; opera singers from the St. FrancisHotel, jabbering excitedly in Italian or French, and making manygestures with their jeweled hands; Chinese and Japanese from theOriental quarter hard by; women-of-the-town, bedraggled, sleepy-eyed andfearful; sailors, clerks, folk from apartment houses.
Near the pansy bed a woman lay. She screamed piercingly at intervals.Frank learned that she was in travail. By and by a doctor came, a nurse.They were putting up tents on the green sward. Automobiles rolled up,sounding their siren alarms. Out of them were carried bandaged men whomoaned, silent forms on litters, more screaming women. They were takento the tents. Extra police appeared to control the crowds that surgedhither and thither without seeming reason, swayed by sudden curiositiesand trepidation.
San Francisco was burning. The water mains were broken by the quake,Frank learned. The fire department was demoralized. Chief Sullivan wasdead. A falling chimney from the California Hotel had crushed him.
There were emergency reservoirs, but no one seemed to know where. Theyhad not been used for years.
Swiftly the fire gained. It ravaged like a fiend in the factory districtsouth and east, toward the bay.
By noon a huge smoke curtain hid the sky; through it the sun gleamedpalely like a blood-red disc. Wild rumors were in circulation. LosAngeles was wiped out. St. Louis had been destroyed. New York andChicago were inundated by gigantic tidal waves.
Frank decided to return home and discover how his people fared. Perhapsthere would be a bite for him. He found his father's house surrounded bya cordon of young soldiers--student militiamen from Berkeley, some onesaid. They ordered him off.
"But--" he cried. "It's my HOME. My father and mother are there."
"They were ordered out two hours since," said a youthful officer, whocame up to settle the dispute. "We'll have to dynamite the place.... Nowater.... Desperate measures necessary...."
He stopped Frank's effort to reply with further stereotypedannouncements. "Orders of the Admiral, Mayor, Chief of Police.... Sorry.Can't be helped.... Keep back, everybody. Men have orders to shoot."
He made off tempestuously busy and excited.
Frank shouted after him, "Wait, where have my parents gone? Did theyleave any word?"
The young man turned, irritably. "Don't know," he answered, and resumedhis vehement activities. Frank, with a strange, empty feeling, retracedhis way, fought a path by means of sheer will and the virtue of hispolice badge across Market street, and struck out toward LafayetteSquare. Scarcely realizing it, he was bound for Aleta's apartment.
A warped shaft had incapacitated the automatic elevator, so he climbedthree flights of stairs and found Aleta packing.
"Frank!" she cried, and ran to him. "This is good of you." She took bothof his hands and clung to them as if she were a little frightened.
"Wait," she said. "I'll bet you've had nothing to eat. I'll make you acup of coffee and a toasted cracker on the spirit lamp."
Silently he sat on a broken chair and watched her. He was immenselygrateful and--he suddenly realized--immensely weary. What a dear girlAleta was! And he had not thought of her till all else failed him.
Soon the coffee was steaming in two little Dresden cups, one minus ahandle. There was a plateful of crackers, buttered and toasted, a bit ofSwiss cheese. Frank had never tasted anything so marvelous.
"Where were you going?" he asked, finally.
"To the park ... the panhandle ... everybody's going there."
"Your--mother!" A swift recollection smote him. "Where is she?"
"Mother died last week," Aleta turned away. "I'm rather thankful--now."
Silently he helpe
d her with the packing. There were a suitcase and asatchel for the choice of her possessions. They required much pickingand choosing. Many cherished articles must be abandoned.
Suddenly Aleta ran to Frank. The room was rocking. Plaster fell aboutthem. The girl screamed. To his astonishment, Frank found his armsaround her waist. He was patting her dark, rumpled hair. Her hands wereon his shoulders, and her piquant, wistful face close to his own. Shehad sought him like a frightened child. And he, with masculineprotective impulse, had responded. That was all. Or was it? They lookedinto each other's eyes, bewildered, shaken. All was quiet now. Thetemblor had passed instantly and without harm.
In the street they joined a motley aggregation moving westward inhorse-driven vehicles, automobiles, invalid chairs, baby buggies andafoot. Rockers, filled with household goods, tied down and pulled byropes, were part of the procession. Everyone carried or dragged themaximum load his or her strength allowed.
When they reached that long narrow strip of park called the Panhandle itwas close to dusk. They advanced some distance ere they found a vacantspace. The first two blocks were covered like a gypsy camp with wagons,trunks and spread-out salvage of a hundred hastily abandoned homes.Improvised tents had been fashioned from blankets or sheets. Before oneof these a bearded man was praying lustily for salvation. A neighborwatched him, smiling, and drank deeply from a pocket flask. A stoutwoman haled Aleta. "You and your husband got any blankets?" she asked.
"No," the girl said, reddening. "No, we haven't ... and he's not ..."
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