"Anyone hurt?" Frank questioned anxiously.
"No," his father answered. "Thought the house was going over ... but there's little damage done."
Suddenly Frank thought of Bertha. He must go to her. She would be frightened.
He ran into the debris-cluttered street. Cable cars stood here and there, half twisted from the tracks, pavements were littered with bricks from fallen chimneys, bits of window glass. Men and women in various degrees of dishabille, were issuing from doorways. As he mounted higher, Frank saw smoke spirals rising from the southeastern part of town. He heard the strident clang of firegongs.
Automobiles were tearing to and fro, with a great shrieking of siren whistles.
It seemed like a nightmare through which he tore, without a sense of time or movement, arriving finally at the marble vestibule of Bertha's home. It was open and he rushed in, searching, calling. But he got no answer. Bertha, servants, aunt--all apparently had fled.
CHAPTER LXXIX
THE TURMOIL
Frank never knew just why he turned toward the town from Bertha's empty dwelling. It was an involuntary reaction. The excitement of those lower levels seemed to call, and thence he sped. Several times acquaintances--newspaper men and others--accosted him. Everyone was eagerly alert, feverishly interested, as if by some great adventure. Japanese boys were sweeping up the litter in front of stores. In many places things were being put in order, as if the trouble were over. But at other points there was confusion and dread. Half-dressed men and women wandered about, questing for a cup of coffee, but there was none to be had, for the gas mains had broken.