Hill.  It was almost deserted; a cable-car now and then crawled up and down its length, and at times a delivery wagon rattled across it; but that was about all.  On the opposite sidewalk two boys and a girl were coasting downhill on their roller-skates and their brake-wagons.  The cable in its slot kept up an incessant burr and clack.  The whole view was rather forlorn, and Vandover turned his back on it, taking up his book again.

About five o’clock his father came home from his office.  “Hello!” said he, looking into the room; “aren’t you home a little early to-day?  Ah, I thought you weren’t going to bring that dog into the house any more.  I wish you wouldn’t, son; he gets hair and fleas about everywhere.”

“All right, governor,” answered Vandover.  “I’ll take him out.  Come along, Cork.”

“But aren’t you home earlier than usual to-day?” persisted his father as Vandover got up.

“Yes,” said Vandover, “I guess I am, a little.”

After supper the same evening when Vandover came downstairs, drawing on his gloves, his father looked over his paper, saying pleasantly: 

“Well, where are you going to-night?”

“I’m going to see my girl,” said Vandover, smiling; then foreseeing the usual question, he added, “I’ll be home about eleven, I guess.”

“Got your latch-key?” asked the Old Gentleman, as he always did when Vandover went out.

“Yep,” called back Vandover as he opened the door.  “I’ll not forget it again.  Good-night, governor.”

Vandover used to call on Turner Ravis about twice a week; people said they were engaged.  This was not so.

Vandover had met Miss Ravis some two years before.  For a time the two had been sincerely in love with each other, and though there was never any talk of marriage between them, they seemed to have some sort of tacit understanding.  But by this time Vandover had somehow outgrown the idea of marrying Turner.  He still kept up the fiction, persuaded that Turner must understand the way things had come to be.  However, he was still very fond of her; she was a frank, sweet-tempered girl and very pretty, and it was delightful to have her care for him.

Vandover could not shut his eyes to the fact that young Haight was very seriously in love with Turner.  But he was sure that Turner preferred him to his chum.  She was too sincere, too frank, too conscientious to practise any deception on him.

There was quite a party at the Ravises’ house that evening when Vandover arrived.  Young Haight was there, of course, and Charlie Geary.  Besides Turner herself there was Henrietta Vance, a stout, pretty girl, with pop eyes and a little nose, who laughed all the time and who was very popular.  These were all part of Vandover’s set; they called each other by their first names and went everywhere together.  Almost every Saturday evening they got together at Turner’s house and played whist, or euchre, or sometimes even poker.  “Just for love,” as Turner said.