It was on the first anniversary of the great earthquake that I found myself in San Francisco. The city was a forest of scaffolding and steam-cranes; huge blocks of stone and concrete hung suspended above the streets on their way to clothe the towering “quake-proof” steel frameworks that rose from the _débris_ of former buildings like gigantic skeletons. Hills of bricks, mortar, and plaster confronted the pedestrian at every turn, and the dust from these and the streets generally made the city a blinding, choking wilderness. The demand for labour in rebuilding had drawn to San Francisco the very dregs of humanity throughout the Americas, and strikes, street riots, and robberies with violence were of daily occurrence. The authority of the police was a sinecure; fat, good-natured giants in white, uniforms and helmets, with truncheons swinging from their wrists, leant against hoardings at street corners and smoked cigarettes, or earnestly requested a striker who became more than usually vociferous to “Cut it out” or “Go way back and sit down.” It appears that in “’Frisco” the cheapest way of living is by drinking, for by buying five cents’ worth of inferior beer one is entitled to eat at a “free lunch counter” adjacent to the bar and have a cut from the joint and cheese and biscuits _ad lib_. To a world-wanderer like myself, whose income was, to say the least, precarious, this was a great institution; and it was at one of these counters that I met a would-be guide, philosopher, and friend in the form of a gaunt youth who, after a brief exchange of civilities, professed the desire to show me a little of ‘Frisco under-life--at my expense. He promised me Chinese opium and gambling dens and orgies in subterranean dancing-halls, with attendant excitements undreamed of by my prosaic mind. Such an appeal to the adventure-loving spirit that lies hidden in most of us was irresistible. I closed with the offer, and after investing in a cheap revolver, that was quite as likely to hurt the man behind it as the one in front, we set out for the less frequented parts of the city. Down by the docks the streets were dark and deserted, and my guide improved the occasion by relating the various “sand-baggings” and assaults that had distinguished the quarter during the past week. The only lighted shop we passed was a small tobacco booth, where I stopped to buy cigarettes. This could hardly have taken me more than two minutes, yet when I stepped out into the street I found my unfortunate guide lying face downwards on the pavement, with a thin stream of red creeping from his forehead towards the gutter. For a brief moment I thought he had fainted; then I saw his clothes had been rifled, and, glancing up the street, discerned the dim outline of three dark figures trotting silently and apparently without haste into the gloom.