When they docked at the foot of Russian Hill, Isabel suggested that Gwynne should leave his portmanteau with Mr. Clatt, the wharfinger that lived at the edge of the sea-wall and looked after such launches and yachts as came his way.
"I want you to stay with me if Lyster and Paula will come too," she said, hospitably. "They like that sort of thing when they happen to have a nurse. If they cannot come you will have to go to one of the hotels. In either case you can send here for your suit-case. You had better take the Jones Street car-"
"The track is bust," said Mr. Clatt, who was a laconic person.
"Walk along the docks to Polk Street and then south until you find a car-I think it turns in at Pacific Avenue. The conductor will tell you where to transfer-"
"Are there no cabs?"
"There are
