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ial reason why he should do it if he could。 He turned around； and headed back to the highway 。。。
He did not drive fast； and he stopped often to investigate； rather half…heartedly。 Here and there he saw bodies； but in general he found only emptiness。 Apparently the onset of the disease had been slow enough so that people were not usually struck down in the streets。 Once he passed through a town where the smell of corpses was thick in the air。 He remembered what he had read in the newspaper； apparently there had been concentrations at the last upon certain areas； and in these the corpses were now to be found most thickly。 There was all too much evidence of death in that town and none of rife。 He saw no reason to stop to investigate。 Surely no one would linger there longer than necessary。
In the late afternoon he came across the crest of the hills； and saw the Bay lie bright beneath the westering sun。 Smokes rose here and there from the vast expanse of city； but they did not look like smokes rising from chimneys。 He drove on toward the house where he had lived with his parents。 He had no hope。 Miracle enough it was that he himself had survivedmiracle upon miracle if the plague had also spared the others of his own family！
From the boulevard he turned into San Lupo Drive。 Every thing looked much the same； although the sidewalks were not as well swept as the standard of San Lupo Drive required。 It had always been a street； of eminent respectability； and even yet； he reflected； it preserved decorum。 No corpse lay on the street； that would b e unthinkable in San Lupo Drive。 He saw the Hatfields' old gray cat sleeping on their porch…step in the sun； as he had seen her …a hundred times before。 Aroused by the sound of the car as he drove by； she rose up and stretched luxuriously。
He let the car roll to a stop in front of the house where he had lived so long。 He blew two blasts on the horn； and waited。 Nothing！ He got out of the car； and walked up the steps into the house。 Only after he had entered did he think it a little strange that the door was not even locked。
Inside； things were in good…enough order。 He glanced about； apprehensively； but there was nothing at which a man would hesitate to look。 He searched around the living…room for some note left behind to tell him where they had gone。 There was no note。
Upstairs also everything looked much as usual； but in his parents' bedroom both the beds were unmade。 Perhaps it was that which made him begin to feel giddy and sick。 He walked out of the room； feeling himself unsteady。
Holding by the rail； he made it downstairs again。 〃The kitchen！〃 he thought； and his mind cleared a trifle at the thought of something definite to do。
As he opened the swinging door； the fact of motion within the room struck his senses。 Then he saw that it was only the second hand of the electric clock above the sink； steadily moving on past the vertical； beginning its long swoop toward six again。 At that moment also he started wildly at a sudden noise； only to realize that the motor of the electric refrigerator； as if disturbed by his ing； had begun to whir。 In quick reaction he was deathly ill； and found himself vomiting into the sink。
Recovered； he went out again； and sat in the car。 He was no longer ill； but he felt weak and utterly despondent。 If he made a detective…like investigation； searching in cupboards and drawers； he could probably discover something。 But of what use thus to torture himself？。 The main part of the story was clear。 There were no bodies in the house； of that at least lie could be thankful。 Neither； he believed； would there be any ghosts…although the faithful clock and refrigerator were rather too ghost…like。
Should he go back into the house； or go somewhere else？ At first he thought that he could not enter again。 Then he realized that just as he had e here； so his father and mother； if by any chance they still lived； would also return here looking for him。 After half an hour； overing repugnance； he went back into the house。
Again he wandered through the empty rooms。 They spoke with all the； pathos of any dwelling…place left without people。 Now and then some little thing cried out to him more poipantly…his father's new encyclopedia （purchased with qualms as to the expense）； his mother's potted pelargoniums （now needing water）； the barometer that his father used to tap each morning when he came down to breakfast。 Yes； it was a simple house…what you would expect of a man who had taught history in high school and liked books； and of a woman who had made it into a home for him and served on the Y。W。C。A。 board； and of their only child…〃He always does so well in his studies！〃…for whom they had cherished ambitions and for whose education they had made sacrifices。
After a while he sat down in the living…room。 Looking at the familiar chairs and pictures and books； he gradually came to feel less despondent。
As twilight fell； he realized that he had not eaten since morning。 He was not hungry； but his weakness might be partly the result of lack of food。 He rummaged around a little； and opened a can of soup。 He found only the stub of a loaf of bread； and it was mouldy。 The refrigerator supplied butter and stale cheese。 He located crackers in a cupboard。 The gas…pressure at the kitchen stove was very low； but he managed to warm up the soup。
Afterwards he sat on the porch in the dark。 In spite of his meal he felt unsteady； and he realized that he was suffering from shock。
San Lupo Drive was high enough on the slope of the hills to be proud of its view。 As he sat there looking out； everything seemed just about the same。 Apparently the processes behind the production of electricity must be almost pletely automatic。 In the hydro…electric plants the flow of water was still keeping the generators in motion。 Moreover； when things had started to go to pieces； someone must have ordered that the street…lights be left turned on。 Now he saw beneath him all the intricate pattern of the lights in the East Bay cities； and beyond that the yellow chains of lights on the Bay Bridge； and still farther through the faint evening mist； the glow of the San Francisco lights and the fainter chains on the Golden Gate Bridge。 Even the trafficlights were still working； changing from green to red。 High upon the bridge…towers the flashes silently sent their warnings to airplanes which would no longer ever be flying。 （Far to the south； however； somewhere in Oakland； there was one wholly black section。 There； some switch must have failed； or some fuse have burned out。） Even the advertising signs； some of them at least； had been left burning。 Pathetically； they flashed out their call to buy； though no longer were there any customers left or any salesmen。 One great sign in particular； its lower part hidden behind a near…by building； still sent out its message Drink although he could not see what he was thus manded to drink。
He watched it； half…fascinated。 Drink…blackness。 Drink…blackness。 Drink。 〃Well； why not？〃 he thought； and going in； he came out again with a bottle of his father's brandy。
Yet the brandy had little bite； and brought no sat