So Freddie Drummond went down for the last time as Bill Totts, got his data, and, unfortunately, encountered Mary Condon.  Once more installed in his study, it was not a pleasant thing to look back upon.  It made his warning doubly imperative.  Bill Totts had behaved abominably.  Not only had he met Mary Condon at the Central Labour Council, but he had stopped at a chop-house with her, on the way home, and treated her to oysters.  And before they parted at her door, his arms had been about her, and he had kissed her on the lips and kissed her repeatedly.  And her last words in his ear, words uttered softly with a catchy sob in the throat that was nothing more nor less than a love cry, were “Bill . . . dear, dear Bill.”

Freddie Drummond shuddered at the recollection.  He saw the pit yawning for him.  He was not by nature a polygamist, and he was appalled at the possibilities of the situation.  It would have to be put an end to, and it would end in one only of two ways:  either he must become wholly Bill Totts and be married to Mary Condon, or he must remain wholly Freddie Drummond and be married to Catherine Van Vorst.  Otherwise, his conduct would be beneath contempt and horrible.

In the several months that followed, San Francisco was torn with labour strife.  The unions and the employers’ associations had locked horns with a determination that looked as if they intended to settle the matter, one way or the other, for all time.  But Freddie Drummond corrected proofs, lectured classes, and did not budge.  He devoted himself to Catherine Van Vorst, and day by day found more to respect and admire in her—­nay, even to love in her.  The Street Car Strike tempted him, but not so severely as he would have expected; and the great Meat Strike came on and left him cold.  The ghost of Bill Totts had been successfully laid, and Freddie Drummond with rejuvenescent zeal tackled a brochure, long-planned, on the topic of “diminishing returns.”

The wedding was two weeks off, when, one afternoon, in San Francisco, Catherine Van Vorst picked him up and whisked him away to see a Boys’ Club, recently instituted by the settlement workers in whom she was interested.  It was her brother’s machine, but they were alone with the exception of the chauffeur.  At the junction with Kearny Street, Market and Geary Streets intersect like the sides of a sharp-angled letter “V.”  They, in the auto, were coming down Market with the intention of negotiating the sharp apex and going up Geary.  But they did not know what was coming down Geary, timed by fate to meet them at the apex.  While aware from the papers that the Meat Strike was on and that it was an exceedingly bitter one, all thought of it at that moment was farthest from Freddie Drummond’s mind.  Was he not seated beside Catherine?  And besides, he was carefully expositing to her his views on settlement work—­views that Bill Totts’ adventures had played a part in formulating.