At Van Ness Avenue, the wide street that runs through the residence part of the city from north to south, Isabel shuddered for the first time, and, as she was ashamed to run across, stood and stared with a new sense of fascination at the inexplicable old earth. The street lay in a narrow valley, what would have been a mere cañon in the mountains, and the soil was loose and sandy, although the great houses sat upon most of the brief level and held it firm. But the stone blocks in low garden walls were bulging and broken, and the street itself was horribly torn. Here and there it had sunken, and looked as if a wave had passed over it and left an impress. A large stone church had fallen, one tower into the street and another upon the neighboring house. The stone walls of houses were cracked; one of the "mansions" had a zigzag crevice from top to bottom.
And the proudest had brought forth chairs and were sitting in their gardens or on the pavement. Isabel recognized a girl who had been one of the belles of Mrs. Hofer's ball, clad in a bath-gown and a pair of socks, and another, noted for her gowns, passed in a wagon, a handkerchief tied about her head and a half-filled pillow-case on her lap. Isabel knew that both had lived in one of the beautiful private hotels on the avenue, and she had already heard that it was so badly wrecked that the guests had been thankful to get out alive and had not ventured to return for their clothes. The stately building had been run up in a night, its feet set in sand, and the wonder was it was not lying across the avenue.
Many of the refugees had already reached this third and last wide street of refuge, and although the greater number were still down at the southern end, others had pushed on, intending to walk to the Presidio, where they were likely to be fed. They were resting on their cumbrous belongings, strange groups, unkempt and half dressed. Many of the householders had sent within for food, and one wealthy dame, whose maid had had time to build her coiffure and groom her properly, sat with a dirty frowsy baby on her lap and was coaxing it to take milk from a spoon, its bottle having been overlooked in the flight. The mother was sitting on the bureau her husband had rescued, by no means abashed, nor even surprised.
Isabel crossed the street and ascended and descended again, traversed several blocks to the north, and finally approached the house in which the Stones had their apartment. Although high-perched, it was uninjured, and as Isabel climbed the hill she saw Paula and her children seated, with many others, on the long flight of steps. Paula waved her hand and walked down composedly to meet her sister. She was dressed, laced, and painted. A sufficient time had elapsed since the earthquake to permit her ruling passion to regain its throne.
"Well, I am glad to see you!" She greeted Isabel with something of the grand air. She felt almost pompous with the sense of playing her part in a great event, fancied herself, perhaps, its central figure. "Of course, I knew you were all right up there, especially as we came off fairly well. But you should have been here. You've missed it!"
"I know," said Isabel, humbly. "But I am glad you were not hurt. And not frightened?"
"Oh, fearfully. And being up so many flights of stairs made it seem so much worse. But Lyster and I managed to get out of bed and into the nursery before it was half over, and hold the children in the doorways. I didn't make a fool of myself like so many others, and run out in the street before I was dressed; my hair was up on pins. Lys was more frightened than I was—it's a wonder he has any nerves at all—and now that there are so many fires he is fearfully excited at the idea that all his favorite haunts may go. He has gone down-town to see what is happening—also," in a happy afterthought, "to try and borrow some money. He literally had not ten cents in his pocket. We have some in the bank for a wonder, but everybody says the banks will go, and also that there will be hard times."
Isabel handed over her purse mechanically. "Victoria and Elton have plenty, I shall not need it," she said. But the desire to save Mrs. Stone's feelings was superfluous. The purse disappeared with a polite "Thanks, dear," and Paula hastily changed the subject, lest the luxury of a carriage for the return to Russian Hill should appeal to Isabel. "Of course you'll go back to the ranch where you can be comfortable," she remarked.
"I have no plan. The launch is ready for us, but it will depend upon the others. Should you care to go to the ranch? I don't suppose you are in any danger from fire, out here, but things may be very uncomfortable for a time."
"Oh, I'll take the risk," said Paula, easily. "I should be bored to death up there, and here there are so many people to talk to. I have heard about fifty experiences this morning, and all fearfully interesting. I guess we'll make out. It will only be for a day or two anyhow, and everybody that has food in the house is offering to share with the rest. I never have much on hand, but Mrs. Brooks, who lives under me, always keeps her store-room filled, and has invited me to lunch. You had better stop, too."