The three locked arms and started slowly toward the Turkish baths.  On their way they stopped at an all-night drug store and had some seltzer.

* * * * *

Vandover had about three hours’ sleep that night.  He was awakened by the attendant shaking his arm and crying: 

“Half-past six, sir.”

“Huh!” he exclaimed, starting up.  “What about half-past six?  I don’t want to get up.”

“Told me to call you, sir, at half-past six; quarter to seven now.”

“Oh, all right, very well,” answered Vandover.  He turned away his face on the pillow, while a wretched feeling of nausea crept over him; every movement of his head made it ache to bursting.  Behind his temples the blood throbbed and pumped like the knocking of hammers.  His mouth would have been dry but for a thick slime that filled it and that tasted of oil.  He felt weak, his hands trembled, his forehead was cold and seemed wet and sticky.

He could recall hardly anything of the previous night.  He remembered, however, of going to the Imperial and of seeing Flossie, and he did remember at last of leaving word to be called at half-past six.

He got up without waking the other two fellows and took a plunge in the cold tank, dressed very slowly, and went out.  The stores were all closed, the streets were almost deserted.  He walked to the nearest uptown car-line and took an outside seat, feeling better and steadier for every moment of the sharp morning air.

Van Ness Avenue was very still.  It was about half-past seven.  The curtains were down in all the houses; here and there a servant could be seen washing down the front steps.  In the vestibules of some of the smaller houses were loaves of French bread and glass jars of cream, while near them lay the damp twisted roll of the morning’s paper.  There was everywhere a great chittering of sparrows, and the cable-cars, as yet empty, trundled down the cross streets, the conductors cleaning the windows and metal work.  From far down at one end of the avenue came the bells of the Catholic Cathedral ringing for early mass; and a respectable-looking second girl hurried past him carrying her prayer-book.  At the other end of the avenue was a blue vista of the bay, the great bulk of Mount Tamalpais rearing itself out of the water like a waking lion.

In front of the little church Turner was waiting for him.  She was dressed very prettily and the cold morning air had given her a fine colour.

“You don’t look more than half awake,” she said, as Vandover came up.  “It was awfully good of you to come.  Oh, Van, you look dreadfully.  It is too bad to make you get up so early.”

“No, no,” protested Vandover.  “I was only too glad to come.  I didn’t sleep well last night.  I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”

“I’ve only just come,” answered Turner.  “But I think it is time to go in.”