the survivors."

"The survivors!" echoed Vandover with wondering curiosity. "Tell me--you
know I haven't heard a word yet--were there many lives lost?" He
marvelled at the strangeness of the situation, that this bar waiter
should know more of the wreck than he himself who had been upon it.

"You bet there were!" answered Toby. "Twenty-three altogether; one boat
capsized; Kelly, 'Bug' Kelly, son of that fellow that runs the Crystal
Grotto, _he_ was drowned, and one of Hocheimer's--Hocheimer, the
jeweller, you know--one of his travelling salesmen was drowned; a little
Jew named Brann, a diamond expert; he jumped overboard and--"

"Don't!" said Vandover with a sharp gesture. "I saw him drown--it was
sickening."

"Were you in that boat?" exclaimed Toby. "Well, wait till I tell you;
the authorities here are right after that first engineer with a sharp
stick, and some of the passengers, too, for not taking him in. A woman
in one of the other boats saw it all and gave the whole thing away. A
thing like that is regular murder, you know." Vandover shut his teeth
against answering, and after a little Toby went on, willing to talk.
"You know, we've got a new man for the day-work down here now--George
isn't here any more. No, he's going to start a roadhouse out on the
almshouse drive in a few months; swell place, you know. I'll have him
send you cards for the opening."

Vandover ordered oysters, an omelette, and a pint of claret from the new
waiter who did the day-work, and ate and drank the meal--the like of
which he had not tasted since leaving Coronado--with delicious
enjoyment.

He delayed over it long, taking a great pleasure in satisfying the
demands of the animal in him. The wine made him heavy, warm, stupid; he
felt calm, soothed, and perfectly contented, and had to struggle
against a desire to go to sleep where he was. The atmosphere of the
Imperial was warm and there was a tepid languor in the air as of the
traces of many past debauches, a stale odour of sweetened whisky and of
musk. After the roughness and hardships of the last week he felt a
pleasant sense of quiet, of relaxation, of enervation. He even began to
wish that Flossie would come in. This, however, made him rouse himself;
he shook himself, and started home, paying his carfare with his last
nickel.

He sat on the outside of the car, wondering if any one he knew would see
him, half hoping that such a thing might happen, realizing the dramatic
interest