Swiss 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 helped her with the packing. There were a suitcase and a
satchel for the choice of her possessions. They required much picking
and choosing. Many cherished articles must be abandoned.

Suddenly Aleta ran to Frank. The room was rocking. Plaster fell about
them. The girl screamed. To his astonishment, Frank found his arms
around her waist. He was patting her dark, rumpled hair. Her hands were
on his shoulders, and her piquant, wistful face close to his own. She
had sought him like a frightened child. And he, with masculine
protective impulse, had responded. That was all. Or was it? They looked
into each other's eyes, bewildered, shaken. All was quiet now. The
temblor had passed instantly and without harm.

In the street they joined a motley aggregation moving westward in
horse-driven vehicles, automobiles, invalid chairs, baby buggies and
afoot. Rockers, filled with household goods, tied down and pulled by
ropes, were part of the procession. Everyone carried or dragged the
maximum load his or her strength allowed.

When they reached that long narrow strip of park called the Panhandle it
was close to dusk. They advanced some distance ere they found a vacant
space. 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 one
of these a bearded man was praying lustily for salvation. A neighbor
watched him, smiling, and drank deeply from a pocket flask. A stout
woman haled Aleta. "You and your husband got any blankets?" she asked.

"No," the girl said, reddening. "No, we haven't ... and he's not ..."

"Well, never mind," the woman answered. "Take these two. It may come
cold 'fore morning. And I've got more than I can use. We brung the
wagon." She drew the girl aside and nudged her in the ribs.

"We ain't married, either--Jim 'n' me. But what's the diff?"

CHAPTER LXXX

AFTERMATH

About daylight the next morning Frank was awakened by a soft pattering
sound. He jumped to his feet. Was it raining? All about folk stirred,
held forth expectant hands to feel t