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They went out shortly after nine o'clock and in San Francisco's embryo ghetto at McAllister and Fillmore streets they bought a decent-looking misfit suit and a pair of second-hand shoes, to say nothing of a bargain in shirts. A visit to a neighboring barber followed. Storch permitted Fred to enter the shop alone, but he stood upon the corner and waited.
Hilmer had grown to be more and more an impersonal effigy upon which one could spew forth malice and be forever at peace. He had fancied, too, that Hilmer was his enemy. Yet, Hilmer had done nothing more than harry him. It was Storch who had captured him completely.
Just as one man plunges into stocks, or another breaks strikes, or another leads a howling mob to victory... Every man has his game. What's yours?" Fred shrugged. "Why are you telling me all this?" he countered. "You don't know me." Storch laughed, showing his greenish teeth again. "What difference does that make?... I'm a pretty good judge of character, and I think I've got you right.
At first he was content to lie in a drowse and listen to the incoherent babblings of these nocturnal visitors, but, as he grew stronger, detached bits of conversation began to impress themselves upon him. These people had each some pet grievance and it remained for Storch to pick upon the strings of their discontents with unerring accuracy.
Storch came in shortly after. He had his inevitable loaf of crisp French bread and a slice of cheese and in his hip pocket he had smuggled a pint bottle of thin red wine. Fred laid the table with the simple utensils that such a meal required and the two sat down. Storch poured out two glasses of wine. "I have had great fun to-day!" Storch said, gulping his claret with a flourish.
He had a feeling that he would remain a silent onlooker only until Storch decreed otherwise. If he stayed long enough the night would come when Storch would call upon him for a testimonial of hatred. He knew that deep down somewhere within him rancors were stirring to sinister life. He had experienced the first glimmerings of cruelty in that moment when he had felt Brauer tremble under his grasp.
Toward daylight Storch arose and filled a pot with coffee. But neither spoke a word. As Storch cleared away the primitive evidences of the morning meal and stood before the sink letting a thin trickle of cold water wash clean the cups he said: "If we get the ten-o'clock boat to Oakland we will be in plenty of time." Starratt rolled a cigarette. "Ah, then you are going, too!"
Storch rubbed his hands together in satisfaction. "A clean slate! Do you realize how wonderful it is, my man, to start fresh?" Fred threw himself into a chair. He felt tired. Sharp, darting pains were stabbing his eyes. "I think I'm going to be ill!" he said, with sudden irrelevance. Storch lighted the oil stove. "Crawl into bed and I'll get you something hot to drink!"
The distinction between rich and poor was unchristian, since in God's kingdom all should be alike. Nicholas Storch, one of Münzer's preachers, surrounded himself with twelve apostles and seventy-two disciples, and claimed that an angel brought him divine messages.
And suddenly, in the intensity of his concentration, he felt a swooning sense of nonexistence, as if his inner consciousness had detached itself someway from the egotism of the flesh and stood apart, watching... He was recalled by Storch's voice. He shuddered slightly and turned his face toward his questioner. "I didn't hear what you said," escaped him. Storch leaned forward.
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