At length Saturday morning had come, and while he was dressing he realized that he could not look forward to any unusual dinner the next day at noon.  The disappointment had all the force of an unexpected disaster and he began keenly to regret his weakness of the past week.  Suddenly Vandover resolved that he would go without food all that day; it would be a saving of fifteen cents, which, added to the five cents that he would spend anyway for his dinner, would almost make a quarter.  He knew where he could dine excellently well for twenty cents.  However, he could not make up his mind to go without his Sunday morning’s breakfast.  That, he told himself, he must eat.

Once dressed, Vandover went out.  Fortunately, the rain had stopped.  He went on down through the reeking, steaming streets to one of the big fruit markets not far from the water front.  The Portuguese fruit vender who roomed next to him at the Reno House was employed at a stall here.  Vandover knew him a little, and it was not hard for him to get a thin slice of cocoanut out from the inside rind of one of those that were lying cracked open among his other wares.

All the morning Vandover chewed this slice of cocoanut, at the same time drinking a great deal of water; for hours he deadened the pang of hunger by this means.  He passed the time for the most part sitting on the benches in the Plaza reading an old newspaper that he had found under a seat.  The sun came out a little; Vandover found the warmth very grateful.  He told himself that he could easily hold out until the next morning.

He had forgotten about the time and was surprised when the whistles all over the town began to blow for noon.  In an instant Vandover was hungry again.  It was all one that he chewed the little pulp of cocoanut rind more vigorously than ever, swallowed great draughts of water at the public fountains; the little gnawing just between his chest and his stomach began to persist.  He got up and began to walk.  He left the Plaza behind him, crossed Kearney Street and went on down Clay Street till he reached the water front.  For a time he found a certain diversion among the shipping and especially in watching a gang of caulkers knocking away at the seams of an immense coal steamer.  He sat upon a great iron clamped pile, spitting into the yellow water below.  The air was full of the smell of bilge and oakum and fish; the thousands of masts made a gray maze against the sky; occasionally an empty truck trundled over the hollow docks with a sound of distant cannon.  A weakness, a little trembling that seemed to come from the pit of his stomach, began upon Vandover.  He was very hungry.  Evidently the slice of cocoanut was no longer effective.  He swallowed it and lit a cigarette, one of the half-dozen still left of the pack he had bought the Tuesday before.