They went out into the street and started in the direction of the restaurant where they had decided to eat their Thanksgiving dinner.  After leaving Vandover that afternoon Ellis had seen the head waiter of this restaurant and had explained to him the bill of fare that Vandover, the Dummy, and himself had arranged during their lunch at the Lick House.  The streets had relapsed into a momentary quiet—­it was between half-past six and seven—­and most of the college men were gathered into the hotels and cafes eating dinner.  About an hour later they would reappear again for a moment on their way to the theatre, which they were to attend in a body.

But Vandover suddenly discovered that he could not eat a mouthful, the smell of food revolted him, and little by little an irregular twitching had overcome his hands and forearms.

He had received a great shock.  That same evening, as he was leaving the hotel, the clerk at the office had handed him some letters that had accumulated in his box.  Vandover could never think to ask for his mail in the morning as he went in to breakfast.  Something was surely wrong with his head of late.  Every day he found it harder and harder to remember things.  There were three letters altogether:  one was the tailor’s bill mailed the same day that his last suit had been finished; a second was an advertisement announcing the near opening of the Sutro Baths that were building at that time; and the third a notice from the bank calling his attention to the fact that his account was overdrawn by some sixty dollars.

At first Vandover did not see the meaning of this notice, and thrust it back in his pocket together with the tailor’s bill; then slowly an idea struggled into his mind.  Was it possible that he no longer had any money at the bank?  Was his fifteen thousand gone?  From time to time his bank-book had been balanced, and invariably during the first days of each month his checks had come back to him, used and crumpled, covered with strange signatures and stamped in blue ink; but after the first few months he had never paid the least attention to these; he never kept accounts, having a veritable feminine horror of figures.  But it was absurd to think that his money was gone.  Pshaw! one could not spend fifteen thousand in nine months!  It was preposterous!  This notice was some technicality that he could not understand.  He would look into it the next day.  And so he dismissed the wearisome matter from his mind with a shrug of his shoulders as though ridding himself of some troublesome burden.  However, the idea persisted.  Somehow, between the lines of the printed form he smelt out a fresh disaster.  He read it over again and again.  All at once as he stood in the doorway of the hotel, turning up the collar of his waterproof and watching the little pools in the hollows of the asphalt pavement to see if it were still raining, the conviction came upon him.  In a second he knew that he was ruined.  The true meaning of the notice became apparent with the swiftness of a great flash of light.  He had spent his fifteen thousand dollars!