Port O' Gold Part 71

"I--I'm going, myself. As a stretcher bearer."

"Then--" her eyes were stars, "you've felt it, too?"

He nodded.

On the deck of an outbound steamer stood two figures. The sky was gray.

Drifts of fog hung plume-like over Alcatraz, veiled the Exposition domes and turrets in a mystic glory. Sometimes it was like a great white nothingness; then, as if by magic, Color, Forms and Beauty leaped forth like some startling vision from a Land of Make Believe.

The woman at the stern-rail stretched forth her arms. "Goodbye," her words were like a song, a song of heartbreak, mixed with exultation.

"Goodbye, Oh my City of Dreams!"

"We will come back," said the man shakily. "We will come with new peace in our hearts."

"Perhaps," she replied, "but it will not matter. San Francisco will go on, big, generous, unafraid in its sins and virtues. Oh, Frank, I love it, don't you? I want it to be the greatest city in the world!"

He made no answer but he caught her hand and pressed it. The fog came down about them like a mantle and shut them in.