looked at him.

"That means what? That you don't care to consider it further?"

It had meant just that when Hiram said it. There was now in Tweet's
question a tone of finality. Hiram felt that his reply would end the
matter. Swiftly his mind grasped for a judicious rejoinder and settled
on "No." He could not bring himself to part with this semblance of
friendship just yet.

"All right, then," Tweet returned. "You're just not through
considerin', eh? Well, I'll tell you: We'll break away and give you a
chance to think. There's a man down California Street I wanta see
before I leave and I'll stroll down that way. You think it over, and
meet me at eleven-thirty up in that disfiguration old Squinty calls a
loungin' room. So long."

He turned abruptly and strode away.

Hiram watched his erect figure and firm step till the crowd hid him,
then followed more slowly in the same direction. His feet were
carrying him toward the restaurant, and he was guiltily permitting
them. He saw a shining drab automobile drawn up at the curb before the
restaurant door. He walked slower and slower as he neared the door,
paused, and looked within.

Lucy was leaning on the counter negligently collecting scattered
toothpicks, and conversing laughingly with a carefully dressed
middle-aged man with a handsome face and curly brown hair. His hair
and Lucy's fluffy topknot were almost touching. Hiram saw him grasp
playfully at Lucy's hand, saw her jerk it away with a flirtatious laugh.

Then Hiram bolted, half blind with pain.

CHAPTER VI

THE FIRE

Hiram did not take note of much till he was three blocks from the
restaurant. There was a dull pain somewhere within him, but when his
thinking apparatus began shaking off its stunned condition he found it
difficult to analyze this pain.

The girl had done practically nothing. In fact, but for her laughter,
her attitude toward the well-dressed man would have showed righteous
displeasure. The thought that this might be a common occurrence did
not enter his head. He was distressed now; he found, only with a keen
feeling of utter alienation, he was one lone backwoodsman against San
Francisco, scorning him, ready to trample him under foot.

A sign over the window of a store cleared this mystery. Hiram stopped
and stared up at it. In a flash he knew what was the matter with him,
and that he hated the stranger for his clothes--that he hated everybody
because this man wor