pouring out of the city--over to Oakland and Berkeley. Lootin' was awful
and General Funston has ordered out the troops. Pipes broken and not a drop
of water. They're goin' to dynamite, but only the fire-chief knew how.
Everybody says the whole city'll go, Doomed, that's what it is. Better let
me tell Mike to harness up and drive you down to San Mateo."

Mrs. Groome had also turned pale, but she cut a piece of bacon with
resolution in every finger of her large-veined hands.

"I do not believe it, and I shall not run--like those people south of
Market Street. I shall stay until the last minute at all events. The roads
at least cannot burn."

"This house ought to be safe enough, ma 'am, standin' quite alone on
this hill as it does; but it's a question of food. We never keep much
of anything in the house, beyond what's needed for the week, and the
California Market's right in the fire zone. And the smoke will be something
terrible when the fire gets closer."

"I shall stay in my own house. There are grocery stores and butcher shops
in Fillmore Street. Go and buy all you can." She handed him a bunch of
keys. "You will find money in my escritoire. Tell the maids to fill the
bathtubs while there is any water left in the mains. You may go if you are
frightened, but I stay here."

"Very well, and you needn't have said that, ma'am. I've been in this
family, man and boy, Ballinger and Groome, for fifty-two years, and you
know I'd never desert you. But no doubt those hussies in the kitchen will,
with a lot of others. A lot of stoves have already been set up in the
streets out here and ladies are cookin' their own breakfasts."