And it has come about in the strangest way. Dan got a chance to help a man he knows clean out an old barn which is to be converted into a garage, and in the loft along with the accumulation of years, they ran across a tandem bicycle which is in excellent condition. The owner gave it to Dan’s friend who thought he could sell it for something, even though cycling is out of date. When Dan told me of the occurrence an intense longing for the open road leading into the west surged over me, but I could see no way of securing the wheel since our funds totalled less than five dollars. Then I said to myself, “There is a way. You must find it,” and resolutely set my subconscious mind to the task. A day passed and another. Then over the threshold of consciousness came the recollection of my one cherished possession—a beautiful opera cloak. On that fateful morning in April, 1906, after the rush to escape from the tottering building, I found myself on the streets of San Francisco in somewhat scanty attire, but folded warmly in my new biscuit-coloured evening wrap. Many thanks I offered up for its protection in the chilly days and nights that followed. Then, when conditions had returned somewhat to normal, a good cleaning and remodelling restored almost its pristine glory, and again it gave good service on the honeymoon. While the panic was sweeping away all our possessions, I laid it aside, resolved that it at least should be retained throughout the storm. But a sterner necessity compelled, so taking it from the drawer, I wended my way to Oak Street and there held a colloquy with our friend’s wife. The cloak caught her fancy at once, the bargain was struck, and I trundled home my prize in triumph, to lean it carefully near the door of our crowded quarters. Here at dusk, Dan, entering hurriedly, collided violently with an outstanding pedal. He hopped agilely about on one foot, clasping his left shin in an affectionate embrace. “What in hades is that thing I just fell over?” he demanded hotly. “That? Why, that’s our through ticket to California.” As I turned up the ineffective gas jet he recognised the graceful lines of the machine. “Well, I’ll be darned!” he ejaculated. “So you got the blooming thing from Dave, did you? How’d you manage it? And what do you mean, anyway, by a ticket to California? You can’t be aiming to ride that contraption.” “Don’t you dare to call my beautiful green tandem a contraption. You’ll be glad enough to take your seat on a bicycle built for two as soon as I’ve explained my perfectly scrumptious scheme to you. We’ll fix up a light cooking outfit, tie our blankets on behind, and away we’ll glide out into the west. We’ll work along the way and have lots of interesting experiences; I’ll get rid of this tiresome cough, and after awhile we’ll get home—home, do you hear? Back to California.”