down Montgomery Street, crossed Kearney Street, and slipped
noiselessly through the side doorway of a restaurant, in a
suspicious-looking alley, not a hundred yards distant from the
gorgeously illuminated Palace Hotel. Here, within five minutes, he was
served with as good a meal as one could get in San Francisco for the
money--and if the table linen was not as clean as it might have been,
the food was not a whit the less excellent for that. At least so Hamar
thought; and it was not until there was nothing left to eat that he
left off eating. When he thought no one was looking in his direction,
he popped the despised book under his chair and rose to go. Before he
had gone ten yards, however, one of the waiters came running after
him.

"Hi, sir, stop, sir!" the fellow cried. "You've left something
behind!" And in spite of Hamar's denials the officious menial
persisted the book was his. In the end Hamar was obliged to submit.
He took the book, and rewarded the waiter with curses.

Hamar next tried to dispose of it down the area of a Chinese laundry;
but a policeman saw him, and he only escaped being taken up on
suspicion, by parting with a dollar. This was the climax. He did not
dare make any further attempt to dispose of the book, but, with bitter
hatred in his heart, tucked it savagely under his arm, and made direct
for his room in 115th Street.

To his annoyance--for under the circumstances he preferred to be
alone--he found two men sitting in front of his empty hearth. They
were Matt Kelson and Ed Curtis; both of whom had been his colleagues
at Meidler, Meidler & Co., in Sacramento Street, and like himself had
been thrown out of work when the firm had "smashed." Since that affair